The Scarlet Queen and the Rose Cross
by Xy-Trig
Summary: A Flandre x OC fic. And no, I am doing this inspired by a friend who loves Flandre. Not me. XD. Anyway, for the summary. The von Rosenkreuzstillete line. Once known all across Europe for martial prowess. The Scarlet line, known for vampirism and "slight" insanity. Their fates, tied twice by a blood-red string. Oh and it's done.
1. The Boy

_This ties into my main fic. Just because I wanted to show that I could._

_Oh, so you're one of those fans as well. _The voice spoke into my head again, through the black satin ribbon neatly clipped to the region around my temple. _Fawning over that little vampire and such._

_I'm not. _I told her. _It's just that the shopkeeper had five copies left and gave it away free with the flight diaries because it didn't sell._ I turned the book over in my hands again. It had a simple, all-black cover, a rarity for manga which always tried to draw the reader's attention with flashy drawings and colors, instead opting for a single line written purely in red ink that appeared to be blood. Looking at the back, a short teaser was written in blood, with the words "Flandre Scarlet" catching my eye. I flipped it back to the front and read the title. The cover itself had a leathery texture, as if it was an actual bound book.

"The Girl Who Should Never Have Been Met?" I asked myself, reading the title out loud. Although my Japanese reading had been steadily improving thanks to constant context clues, I still wasn't entirely sure of myself. The voice in my head spoke up again with a _That's right, and you should be ashamed of yourself for liking her._ I responded. _Hey, I resent that. It was free. _I could almost see her smirk as she said _So you like bad free writing now. Pitiful._

_I told you I don't! I'm just fascinated as to how people could possibly like that cute little monster! _I raged against the voice in my head, which answered back. _Doing that only means that you like her~! How cliché~! _I immediately fired back a _No way in Hell, _smashing my fist into the bow on my head just to make the point. Obviously, the voice did not take that lying down, throwing more barbs which I had to counter. Eventually, we made it back to my room. Unloading all the flight diaries onto the floor, I finally was alone with the book. Well, almost alone.

_There's no hope for you. _She said, melodramatically extending her voice as if I was a hopeless cause. _Goodbye, Victor Hunter, for today, by opening that accursed book, you have become a hopeless devotee of the vampire. You have…_

I ignored the proselytizing voice and opened the book. Surprisingly, the book was actually in a light novel format, rather than the manga that I was expecting. I felt the familiar feeling of being sucked into a book, the desire to read it in one night before anything else, when even eating and sleeping came second to knowing the truth behind the story.

With these nostalgic thoughts in mind I turned the page.

_It's been a month since that day. The day when we first met._

These were melodramatic thoughts, definitely something that would not occur to a normal person with normal experiences.

But ever since that day a month ago, Levant von Rosenkreustillete has not been the same.

Levant has always been the target of jokes, ridicule, and good-natured teasing, not only because of his hobby of searching for images straight from Japanese culture, and not least for his extremely extravagant name. It's something to be expected when the vast majority of your friends have been men.

Levant von Rosenkreustillete chose the nickname of "Pancakes", thanks to his short, chubby appearance, easy-to-tease demeanour, and the fact that it sounded cute, would never have been thought to have such melodramatic and wonderful thoughts. His current occupation as a budding mangaka of cute chibi anime was nothing but a distraction compared to the memories of that day.

The day when the young von Rosenkreustillete felt the attraction that might be love.

Budding writers everywhere seek inspiration from different sources. Some find them in the thoughts of others, purified into the words and drawings of novels and manga, epics and movies, even simple articles and TV shows. But for Levant, it is a completely different kind of inspiration. Put simply, it was the untamed lake behind his home.

There was absolutely no sign of the lake from the front of the house, leading Levant to speculate that it was really in another world, perhaps brought from the era of knights and castles that his family was a part of. The von Rosenkreustilletes were a former noble family, with a large wild ground behind their castle.

It should have been something simple. But in reality, it was an otherworldly sight. It was as if it was ripped out of a fairy tale book, with a lush green forest, replete with pinewood and other hard trees. After a bit of a path was a great lake, untouched by urban development. The clear blue water was shining, the moonlight dancing on the clear and calm surface of the water. Even the air was crisp, clear, and clean, free from the pollution, smoke, and bustle of everyday life. All of these, displayed under the radiance of tonight's full moon, did wonders for his soul.

It did Levant good to go out to the back. The best part was that he could be alone here, as there was no way to know about this lake unless you walked out back. And truly, throughout his entire life, this spot had been his confidante. It had seen him play as a child, when he was barely old enough to run. It had seen him cry as a boy, bullied and teased by his classmates. It had seen him smiling and happy, as he had lived and grown with them. It had seen him intense, as he thought on his future, and where his habits of drawing would take him. And finally, through all this time, it saw him reflective, as he mused on his past, his future, and his life in general. Whether it was girls, how to stop the others from teasing him, or what his art of putting pencil to paper would show off next, this spot had been his confidante and friend. He rounded the final bend, ready to begin the night's artistic musings.

So it was no surprise that he was surprised beyond belief when he saw the girl on the rock he normally sat on. It was a huge surprise to see anyone else at all in his special spot, which was a cliff that extended from the forest, giving a panoramic view of the lake and the forest around it. Two rocks stood at the head of the cliff, both made of white marble. They were short, arranged perfectly like round chairs, and Levant made use of them to draw.

But now, silhouetted in the silver moonlight, was a short girl. The top of her mob cap was white, with the red ribbon that held it in place on her head poking out at regular intervals. Her blonde hair was stylishly messy over the back and sides of her head, the golden strings curling on themselves. Her cute and delicate body, no older than one of a twelve-year old child, was made different only by the addition of wings that were like black iron rods, from which hung crystals of green, red, yellow, and blue. Clad in a red dress and wearing a somber expression, her small yet striking figure stunned Levant, who continued to stare at her from the forest path, as he could do nothing else. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized the girl as Flandre Scarlet, the crazy vampire girl who was supposedly locked in the basement of the Scarlet Devil Mansion. However, bathed in the moonlight, serenely staring up at the sky and the full moon, there was nothing that indicated madness.

In fact she seemed quite sad… and beautiful. With that, Levant sat down. He had found his muse in the forest he had thought was his sanctuary. Taking the little light from the moon, he furiously began to sketch. In order to capture every detail, from the exact curls of her hair to the number of frills on her red dress and mob cap.

_I have to get this._ He thought. _She might disappear and never show herself again, so now's the time!_

He was in that state familiar to all artists, that state where all that mattered was the art. There was no need to eat, no need to drink, and only the body needed to breathe as the soul was enraptured in the spirit of art. His eyes drank deep of the beauty of life, at the beauty of the child whose figure was framed by the silver moon. The slight angle at which her mob cap was tilted. Her faraway expression, as she stared up at the moon in longing. Her wings, the crystals dangling and jangling softly in the night breeze. Her small, delicate frame, dressed up in red and frills. All of this, Levant took in, to the exclusion of all else save the light of the moon. His hand flew across the paper, recording every detail.

But he did not need to. Without it being known to him, the image was already engraved in his mind's eye, so much so that he could have drawn the whole image from memory.

But there was something about this moment that compelled him to not just sit idly by, but to draw. And so he drew.

It lasted maybe a minute, maybe an hour, maybe half the night, but after a time the girl sighed and stood up. As she did so, Levant moved unintentionally with his subject, leaning forward and crashing down onto the ground. The noise shattered the peaceful, solemn night like a crack, and the girl immediately turned towards the sound.

"Who's there!?" She squealed, turning around to see Levant. "How long have you been there!?"

"Ah, oh, I'm sorry!" Levant yelled. "But you just looked so beautiful in the moonlight, so I had to draw you…" Picking up his now-blunt pencil and paper, he held them tight as he pulled back. "I'm so sorry!"

"Can I see the picture?" She asked, advancing slowly towards him. Levant nodded, timidly holding out the picture. He had not been able to fully grasp the quality and depth of his picture as he drew it. The girl's eyes drew wide as she saw it.

The moon's bright light had been captured perfectly. The contrast between the dark lines of her well-defined features perfectly matched her outline, although it was punctuated by softer areas of pencil where the moonlight had blurred the line between what was the girl and what was the light. The picture showed off her captivating eyes as they stared up at the moon, perfectly replicating the glow as they longed for something far beyond what could be expressed in words. Her blonde hair, falling into perfect curls at the sides of her head, was also carefully drawn, to the point that it wasn't too hard to imagine that you could see individual strands. Her wings, with their crystals, were clearly shown against the black night, and the crystals were glowing in their different colors, an amazing feat considering that his only tools were the lightness and softness of the black pencil. Lastly, her red dress, its billows, its creases, and its frills, was faithfully recorded as the formal wear that it truly was, the elegantly beautiful clothes of a bygone age, when all things were controlled for the greatest impression. You could almost feel the soft satin fabric when you ran your hand over the paper, revelling in its wonderful feeling.

In short, the drawing was less of a picture made of graphite and paper and more of a slice of life itself. The moment was perfectly preserved in its every detail, and the girl saw this. The artist, however, was oblivious to his own genius. She looked up at him with a piercing glare.

"It's still not finished!" Levant protested, immediately flustered. "There are still so many details and colors that I have to prepare and get from home—" But the girl cut him off, in a soft yet firm voice.

"No, it's perfect." She said, handing him back the sketchpad. "Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me?" The boy asked, dumbstruck.

"Because you reminded me of something… something I've missed for a long time." The girl's faraway expression returned for a moment before she approached the boy again. "Goodbye for tonight." She said. But as she turned to leave Levant called out to her.

"Wait! At least tell me your name!" He yelled, reaching out to her figure, which had kicked off into the air, wings beating to keep her aloft. The girl turned back, and with a smile she let her name through.

"Flandre. Flandre Scarlet."

"Levant von Rosenkreuzstillete!" He yelled at her retreating figure. She smiled and nodded as she left.

"Will I see you again!?" He asked frantically, but received no response. Dejected, he returned down the dark path to his home, sketchpad and pencils clutched in his hands, as if wary of losing that last link to her. He looked at his watch, which read 10:10 PM.

He changed. Whenever his mind was free, it would wander towards that moment and the girl that he had met. Every day, he sharpened his pencils and went out to the place in the back, waiting for the girl to reappear. For the first few days he was hopeful, but he soon realized the futility in his task. And so, on the ninth day, he despaired. He became depressed, despondent, and always down. He meditated in his room, slowly sinking into despondency. His special place was no longer safe, now being associated with the pain of losing the girl, so he retreated into his room. He began to recognize the depression as not simply despondency after having witnessed such a great moment, but also for a very simple and selfish reason.

He wanted to see the girl again. He wanted to see that beautiful girl again. And now that he thought about it, the longing in her eyes reflected a sense of pain.

That was a sense of pain that his honourable and noble heart wanted to heal. So after that, every day, he returned with a new mission.

He wished to meet the girl, to know her, and to take away that pain. And so every day, he returned to the rocks on the cliff. Every night, even as he suffered disappointment, he continued to return to the rocks on the cliff, in the hopes of meeting the girl again.

And so time passed, until the next full moon. Just like all of the other days, he walked up the road to the cliff fully aware that today would be a bust just as always. He rounded the final bend and saw it.

There she was, sitting on the rocks, the same as she had been when they had first met. She was staring up at the sky with her longing eyes.

But this time, Levant did not hesitate. He walked into the clearing that led up to the cliff.

The girl noticed and turned around.

They stared at each other for a second. Suddenly, Levant could see her pain reflected in her eyes. He saw her loneliness, her pain, and the past she so desperately tried to hide. Now, all he could think about was healing those wounds. To take her and to know her, to help her and to heal her.

When he looked back on it, he would say that this was the moment that he had first fallen in love.

The girl smiled and said "So, Levant-san, what shall we do today?"

"I don't know." He said. "Maybe we'll talk?"

"Draw another picture! I want to see how you draw pictures!" She was curious now, wrapped up in her own little world as she demanded this of him. She came closer to him, like a child would. He sat down on the rocks.

"Well, first you start by looking around for something to draw…." He said. The girl nodded to his every word, and this continued through the night. Until, at 10:00 PM, at the same time as always, the little girl bid her farewell and flew off.

"When will I see you again?" He asked.

"I come here every full moon." She replied. "Today was fun~! Come again next month~!"

"Yeah." He said, more to himself than to her. "Of course I will."

I closed the book. It was ten at night, and I shouldn't be up this long at all. I yawned long and loudly, finally putting my hand down on the book and putting it into a shelf.

_You liked that, didn't you? __**THAT DAMNED VOICE AGAIN**__. You're hopeless, you're going to be a devotee of that little vampire forever._

_Shut up. _I responded to the voice, striking the ribbon with my palm again. _I always got into books when I was on the outside; nothing's changed._

_Oh? Then why do you look like you want to read more?_

_I always do, Yuka-tan. I always do. _She stopped. But I could hear the boiling rage behind her voice as she made a measured response.

_Do you know the price of disrespect? _She asked. The venom in her voice was obvious.

_Death? _I asked, although I already knew the answer.

_WORSE THAN DEATH! MINUS TEN THOUSAND POINTS!_ The voice yelled, and at that moment I was crushed under a gigantic weight that almost snapped me in half.

"Whyyy meee…" I wheezed out under the weight. I went to sleep right there on the floor after the weight was lifted.

But not before I swore that I would finish that book one day. I would read it until I knew what happened to the Scarlet and Rosenkreuzstillete.

_Come to think of it… Rosenkreuzstillete has the German words for "rose" and "cross" in it. I wonder if there's any relation to the Scarlets…_

And with those thoughts I went to sleep on the floor, not even bothering to crawl into the futon.


	2. The Girl

_Damn, what a day. Well, let's get to reading._ I thought. I had been dripping wet just a few minutes before, nothing would stop me from reading. It was like the ultimate release for me, letting me dream while awake.

_You're an idiot and a fanatic._ The voice in my head told me that again. _You'd read even if the world was ending around you._

_That gives me all the more reason to._ I said. _I want to finish the book._ My eyes settled on the first line of text, blocking out all distractions.

Levant quite simply longed for the next month, wishing it would condense and let him see the girl again.

He paid no attention in class, always sighing and dreaming. His friends would always catch him staring into space, usually out through the window and into the clouds. He still took his tests and maintained his grade, but it always seemed as if his heart were somewhere else. He ate only enough to keep himself alive, and friends and family alike worried for him. He never left his room anymore except for school, consumed by his art and locked in the room to draw. His thoughts were occupied by the same sets of thoughts. _Why can't she come more often? Will I really see her again? Will she remember me in a month's time? Will she still care? _

Concerned, his parents talked to him about it one day over dinner. The room, both a living and a dining room, was quite large and furnished in an older style, having a pair of sofas for relaxing, a space in front of the wide HDTV to put game consoles, walls painted a relaxed shade of yellow, and a rectangular hardwood table. At it, six chairs were drawn, for the simple reason that they had frequent visitors.

"Levant, what's wrong?" His father asked. Gilbert von Rosenkreuzstillete was a kind, hardworking man, usually the kind who would avoid trouble.

"Nothing, dad." Levant said.

"You eat too little and I've heard you're spacing out in class." Martha von Rosenkreuzstillete said. She was a housewife who loved gossip and news. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Levant said.

"Remember that your education is important." Martha said. "You're going to need a good education to get through life. Don't forget that."

"Yes, mom." He finished his meal. "I'm going upstairs now." He said, as he stood up and placed his plate next to the sink.

"Don't spend too much time on that drawing habit! Remember that you have to study!"

"Don't worry, mom!" Levant said, waving as he went up the stairs to his room. As soon as the door closed, he began to draw.

For his parents it was just a hobby, something that he did.

But for Levant it was a release. It allowed him to say all the things he could never say out loud, do all the things that he could never do. Through curve and color he could show sadness, happiness, or both at the same time.

Maybe it was because he had always seen things with his mind's eye. His memory was above-average, letting him recall details from both his subjects and his lessons. He was also quite perceptive, immediately noticing details and nuances. This he reflected on the paper when asked to draw, and these were the things that were always singled out as being "what's good about this picture".

Drawing at his desk, the boy continued his long wait. His pencil ran over paper, leaving behind art as it went. Later he would study, as his parents expected much from their son.

The girl's wait, however, was a far different thing.

"Sakuya-san, you'll let me out again next month, right?" She asked the silver-haired maid in blue.

"Of course, Flandre." She said this with a comforting smile, before closing the door on the girl. The door was a wooden one, carved with square indents in the European style. It would have been considered passable, if not elegant. With the wood shined to perfection, and the shiny golden doorknobs on it, it would not have been out of place in a mansion.

But the room on the other side was anything but elegant. Dark, dank, and humid, the basement that the girl lived in was her home, her sanctum, and her prison all at once.

It was home because she had a bed down there, somewhere in the darkness. She could see because she was a vampire, but it was still quite disconcerting to anyone who had ever been there. Food was provided to her by the maid of the mansion, the one to whom she had just spoken.

It was her sanctum, as all her toys, all her books, all her clothes and all the things she would ever need were in that one basement. She could live there on her own if she wanted to, and she would never be bored. It also held photos and diaries, memories of her family.

Lastly, it was her prison. Now, it would be natural to ask why it was a prison for someone so beautiful, civilized, and friendly enough to a complete stranger like Levant von Rosenkreuzstillete.

It was simple.

"Hehe…hehehehehe…" She, facing the pitch-blackness that was her room, laughed. It was a maniacal laugh, as if escaping from her memory. As if the laugh itself denied what had undeniably happened.

They had attacked. With their bolts of blue light and their deadly silver javelins, they had come into their mansion at the very moment that they were weakest.

She could not remember the day properly, possibly because she was only a child then. Disconnected memories flowed through her, revisiting the broken fragments of her past.

A feast, held in the great hall. A ceiling so high it made you feel insignificant, the hall so large it was hard to see from end to end. Much cheering and merrymaking, dedicated to a special occasion. She remembered clearly that she had been made to wear a white dress on that day, complete with holes in the back for her leathery wings. She had stepped into the great hall on that day, ready to celebrate. The party was grand, the room filled with vampires, and the food and drink flowed freely among them.

The mood was cut short by a sudden scream. It was not the scream of a man struck down, rather, it was the scream of a man tortured to death. Immediately, the vampires assembled their forces, spreading out to avoid being attacked. However, the attackers were already upon them. Through the windows, they came.

Tall men in robes, masters of magic meant for one purpose and one purpose only.

Their purpose was to kill vampires. Firing spells all over the palatial hall, casting light, shadow, and noise all over the hall, vampire after vampire fell to their assault. She saw one of them wind his hand back, summoning a blue spear. She watched with wide, surprised eyes.

He threw a blue bolt at her. Completely stunned and rooted to the spot, the girl could do nothing but watch the attack fly towards her.

"Flandre!" It was a rough call, the call someone makes when they are pressed for time, and when they can no longer think of anything but the name they call. A tall, elegant woman Flandre instinctively recognized as her mother threw herself in front of the young vampire and was pierced by the spear.

Following that, the spear exploded, ripping apart her mother's vampire heart. The bolt was designed with a curse from which vampires could not recover. It was a sure, instant, death.

The young Scarlet was coated with her mother's blood, propelled by the exploding spear. The girl understood fully the significance of what had happened. Blood spattered on her white dress, covered her face, stained her hands and reddened her hair as her mother's body fell backwards, next to her.

She looked at the man who had thrown the spear. Already he was preparing the next one, aiming it with deadly precision.

At a certain point in every vampire's life, they awaken to their inner "potential". This can be anything from the ability to duplicate oneself to the ability to manipulate the threads of fate themselves. It can be the ability to be immune to sunlight, or to fade into the shadows of the darkness so that the vampire can never be seen.

Flandre, at this moment, awakened to her potential. She saw the "eye" of the magus' existence. As he threw the spear, with a forward motion as if tossing a javelin, she raised her right hand and imagined his life in her hands.

"Kyuu." She said. The man exploded into a gory fountain of death, spilling blood and organs everywhere. His lungs ruptured, blowing blood across the hall and throwing fragments of his bone all over the room.

But in return the blue spear struck Flandre in the back, blowing her wings apart. However, her power prevented the spell from affecting her body.

There was no pain. The spear called Laevatein materialized in Flandre's hand as she looked up at the rest of the fight. She smiled, for the first time, her killing slasher smile. She saw one of the robed magi coming towards her, a spell already in hand. She raised her spear to meet him, charging forward herself.

The effects were immediate. Lavaetein broke the shoulder blade, chopping through flesh and reaching the heart. The man, surprised by the little one's sudden burst of speed, had no time to react or to mitigate damage. The blood of the man mixed with the blood of the girl and her mother, further staining her dress from white to red.

The girl found this all quite fun and beautiful, as if it was normal to have people come in and kill your family around you, coating the halls in the gory hieroglyphics of death, as if it was just fine to fill the hall of merriment with the sounds of explosions and screams.

As any child would do at such a fun event, she laughed. It was a laugh that both denied and embraced reality.

Because sometimes the way the world is messed up is too much for our minds, and all we can do is laugh.

"Aha…aha…ahahahahaha!" Her voice rang out throughout the hall as she lunged towards the next target, bounding across the hall like a bullet. Singing with glee, she ripped apart another man with her spear.

And through all this she continued to laugh.

She remembered nothing after this, only the sensations of cutting flesh, of crushing bone, of destroying and taking life. It was an indistinct blur, with only their instinct and strength preventing her from taking the lives of other vampires. After that, she could think of nothing else, drunk on the power and madness of battle.

She touched her wings. Only afterwards had she realized that she no longer had wings, and they were replaced with the creations of iron and crystal that hung from her back to this day. Her sides shook with laughter, as if remembering an old joke. When she didn't remember too well, she would play with her toys, but she always remembered what she was and broke them in the end.

It's a proven psychological fact that a child plays with their toys in a manner that reflects what has actually happened to them.

But in moments of clarity and sanity, she remembered and longed to meet the boy again, before sinking back into the frenzy of playing with her toys.

But every month, at the full moon, her head would clear, and she would recall her other memories, the long-forgotten peaceful days.

So they let her leave the mansion and sit on the cliff, drowning in reminiscence. There, she would stare at the moon, pure and beautiful as it was. She would remember her days as a carefree child, dreaming of her kind and gentle mother, her large and friendly father, the sister who still played with her, and the friends she had made. Everything from little things, such as her mother's favourite mango pudding and her father's smooth silver hair, to the names of every person in the family, how they were related, and how friendly they were.

She remembered their fate, how they had been mercilessly killed off. How they had eventually fought off the invasion. It was decided that for their safety, the vampires were to be sent away.

And she remembered how savage and defiled she had become. Tainted by the blood she had both shed and made others shed, she now stares at the moon, wishing to remember her time as a child, innocent and pure.

Even after they moved to Gensokyo, in the middle of the misty lake, she still felt that she stared up at the same pure full moon. It was then that she dreamed, she wished, and for a moment, she was that innocent child again. Staring up at the moon, she would stay for a time interminable before flying back into the basement where she kept herself.

And so arrayed, she met the artist, with his innocent love of art and his flustered self. Drawing in the woods, she had thought that he was a wild animal of some kind.

"Who's there!?" She challenged the boy in the darkness. "How long have you been there!?"

"Ah, oh, I'm sorry!" the boy yelled. He was short and a little chubby, the kind of person you would love to smack around. "But you just looked so beautiful in the moonlight, so I had to draw you…" Picking up his now-blunt pencil and paper, he held them tight as he pulled back. "I'm so sorry!" She smiled. His speech reminded her of the boys when she was just a child, always apologizing over every little thing, not like the adults who would walk by after a curt "Sorry".

Slightly annoyed but curious, she approached, seeing the pencil and sketchpad in his hands. After some silence, she finally asked

"Can I see the picture?" She asked him, approaching the object of her curiosity. He held it out and she took it.

There had been one other artist who had taken a portrait of Flandre before. She had seen his painting, elegant and wonderful, of her in her white gown right before that fateful party. It was a masterpiece, awash in color, light, and firm, clear lines. The Flandre in that portrait was indeed beautiful and striking, but it was formal, in the same way that all other ladies were. There was no light in her eyes in the portrait, as if she were merely a mannequin, bored and passively being taken a picture of. Nevertheless, it was considered that artist's masterpiece, a technically perfect rendition of the young vampire.

This portrait was only in pencil, with the shading barely even complete. Sketch lines were clearly visible on the different shapes on the paper. But it captured the light in her eyes, how the soft moonlight danced on her small frame, how she stared up at the sky as if longing to reach the moon.

From a technical standpoint, in terms of color, shading, lines and form, it was an amateur's unfinished work, waiting to be completed. The pencil strokes also needed some work, the thickness of the lines not always matching, resulting in hair that was thicker than the lace of her mob cap.

From an artistic standpoint, however, it was better than a photo, perfectly capturing the moment he saw that girl. The longing in her eyes had been faithfully recorded, her fully extended neck as she gazed at the moon, and the slight, somber movements of the crystals that were on her wings all had been documented. All the signs of emotion, all the little things and the body language, had been placed on the paper.

"It's still not finished!" the boy protested, immediately flustered. "There are still so many details and colors that I have to prepare and get from home—" But she didn't care about technicalities.

Because she saw, with her own two eyes, the beauty and innocence that she had always wished to regain. Her eyes, which had already widened, regained their dreamy look, as if searching for something. She smiled for a moment at the fact that even for just a second, she had found what she had looked for.

"No, it's perfect." She said, handing him back the sketchpad. "Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me?" The boy asked, dumbstruck.

"Because you reminded me of something… something I've missed for a long time." The girl's faraway expression returned for a moment before she approached the boy again. "Goodbye for tonight." She said. But as she turned to leave Levant called out to her.

"Wait! At least tell me your name!" He yelled, reaching out to her figure, which had kicked off into the air, wings beating to keep her aloft. The girl turned back, and with a smile she let her name through.

"Flandre. Flandre Scarlet."

"Levant von Rosenkreuzstillete!" He yelled at her retreating figure. She smiled and nodded as she left.

"Will I see you again!?" He asked frantically, but received no response.

She did not hear his question.

But when she returned to the Scarlet Devil Mansion, and as the maid Sakuya prepared to close the door on her, she said something.

"Sakuya-san." She said to call her attention.

"Yes, Flan-sama?"

"Next month… can you let me out a bit earlier?"

"Of course." She said, smiling. "May I ask why?"

"I made a friend." The small vampire said, smiling slightly. "A good friend."

"Then it would be my pleasure." The maid responded. "Maybe you can have your friend over sometime." She said, closing the door. Flandre faced the blackness again.

When she looked back on it, she would recognize that, even if she didn't know it…

This was the moment where she had fallen in love.

"Wow, that was… surprising." I said. I had just read through the whole thing. "And I thought this chapter was actually going to be something new."

I closed the book. It had been quite pulling, but it wasn't exactly stay-up-all-night level into the futon, I went into a peaceful sleep.


	3. Madness Inside, Madness Outside

_I opened the book again. Nothing stirred the appetite for reading like a good beating. Still aching all over from the fight, I took the book in my hands and threw the pages open, my fingers barely responding to the fine motor commands I gave them. The paper ruffled as I returned to the adventure._

Two very similar emblems will start our story today. The first one is the emblem in Levant's room. I shall take pains to describe it here for the uninitiated: It is a silver item known as the Rose Cross. It is formed by the shape of two roses, one running from right to left and the other running vertically from the bottom to the top. It is famous for the rose thorns and leaves on the left and bottom ends, which continue until reaching the poignantly-placed rose blooms at the top and the right. Lastly, a blood-red rose is placed in the middle of the cross, like a red eye, wide open and staring at whoever looked at it.

But the von Rosenkreuzstillete version was slightly different. While in wrought-iron renditions, most would leave the branches, leaves, and thorns uncoloured, the von Rosenkreuzstilletes had theirs in full-color, with the leaves a verdant green, the branches a dark brown, the thorns prominent and menacing, and the roses a dull, slightly bloodlike red.

It was an extension of their motto; "Never be fazed by fantasy". Hanging on the side wall, in the form of a breathtaking watercolour painting, its presence is a reminder that the family of von Rosenkreuzstillete is among Germany's living relics.

Anonymous knights that served at the side of the greatest rulers of the age. Shadow members of the courts, providing wisdom to Kaisers and Chancellors alike. Beginning around the time of Fredrick the Great, they were the bureaucrats and leaders of Germany, commanding from the shadows.

They were behind Fredrick as they united the Germanic tribes into one, and were commanders in his Prussian Army.

The Weimar government had refused their support, so they threw their weight behind Hitler and the Nazi Party. The result was the rapid advancement of Germany, enabling it to recover and start the Second World War.

After the war, they moved to West Germany, where they were able to kick-start the economy. When East Germany was liberated, the Rosenkreuzstillete group was the first company over the border.

Because they had never been blinded by passion or fantasy, they had taken the practical route, hiding themselves among the rich and the poor, among the influential and the ordinary alike. Levant's family was the main family, happily disguised as an affluent household. But I digress, on to the second emblem.

The second emblem is in GSG9 headquarters, Potsdam. At the moment, the man who holds it in his locket, the young Leutenant Leopold von Rosenkreuzstillete, is facing his superior, Hauptmann Steiner Wrede.

"You've been transferred to Central Services." He said. "I honestly have no idea why they're taking out one of our aces."

"Orders are orders." Leopold responded. He cut an intimidating figure, even in his casual clothes. He was blond and blue-eyed, and even with just a dress shirt and slacks on, his body showed the results of his training. He wasn't beefy, but he had muscle enough to do the job and it showed. Standing at six feet and five inches, he was quite the tall one.

"You're scheduled to be moved to the other compound later tonight. I know there's not much to pack, but you'd best be early." Steiner said. "Just don't forget what we've taught you here."

"I couldn't even if you beat me, sir." Leopold smiled as he said this. His commanding officer returned his smile.

"Take care, Leutenant." He gave a small, informal salute from his eyebrow.

"Same to you, sir." Leopold strode out of the room, seemingly calm for a sudden transfer. To any casual observer, it would seem that he was thinking about the goodbyes he would have to make. Yes, he thought of those, but if you looked closer, there was something in his eyes.

It was as if he had been assigned to frontline combat.

Time's most merciless feature is that it moves slowly, but its greatest virtue is that it moves unceasingly. Even as Levant felt every moment must be a year, waiting for the full moon, and as Flandre's every lucid moment, more common than ever, was now dedicated to waiting for the day when she could leave the basement and stare out at the moon, time marched on unceasingly.

And before either of them felt it, it had already been a month. They had not missed the cue, however, and both of them, drawn by their friendship with someone so strange it was as if they were from another world, returned to the cliff. The full moon shone, like a guiding beacon to the two lost souls.

"So, why do you come here?" Flandre asked the boy. "You don't seem like the outdoor type." She smiled at him, revealing the points of her fangs as she sat on the rock like she always did.

The boy, placing the sketchpad he used on his lap and sitting on the other rock, returned her gaze.

"I'm here to draw, usually." He said, looking down. Although things had warmed up considerably, he still showed some nervousness and reluctance around the little girl.

She, on the other hand, had no such reservations. "Did you draw a lot this month?" Cheerful, with her mouth wide open and her eyes glowing. The image of a playful child was there for Levant to see on display. He smiled. It was something he wasn't familiar with, but something he liked nonetheless.

"Here." He said, opening up the sketchbook. From the day that he had drawn that first picture, it was as if his artist's eye had been opened. He had finished the picture of the girl that he had showed her, but after that, something had changed.

Normally, it took him five hours to get a picture to the level of the picture he had drawn of Flandre on the rock. He had done it in what he estimated to be one on that night.

Although he could not match the speed of that day, his average time for a drawing of that quality was down to two hours. After which he would spend one or two polishing it, removing sketch lines and imperfections, until he was satisfied with the result. It was as if his artist's eye had cleared, allowing him to see more than ever before. His hands seemed to have lightened, allowing him to sketch at speed and with accuracy.

In short, meeting this girl had cleared his mind. He looked over at the short girl, who was looking at his work intently.

"Come to think of it, you have really good night vision." He said. "It's strange for someone to see in the dark."

"Says you, you were able to draw me in the dark!" Flandre responded. Levant recoiled a bit at this. "Liar, liar, pants on fire! Bad liars deserve to be punished!" She squealed cheerfully, striking Levant lightly on the shoulder. He recoiled and got quiet, without looking at the girl.

"What's wrong?" She asked him.

"Nothing." He said, but his voice confirmed that his hunched-over form and turned-away face was not okay.

He didn't expect it when her arms wrapped around his chest.

"My mom used to do this when Remi or I got scared." She said. "I know I haven't known you very long, but you looked like you could use a hug."

He said nothing, merely feeling her soft arms and her body on his back. Her skin was soft and her embrace was gentle. After a few breaths, he began to speak.

"I was bullied as a kid." He said. "Getting punched brought back some… bad memories."

"That's all right." She whispered to him. "That was then and this is now. You have to learn to let it go."

He felt the sincerity in her words, as if spoken from experience. As if she had a past she herself wanted to forget. As if she herself was hiding from the pain, just like him.

So, just as she had hugged him to comfort him, so should he. Her hands met in front of his chest. He clasped those hands. He wanted to say something, but the mood had turned solemn. Neither of them wanted to move or to speak. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Are you alright now?" She asked. It was a stupid question.

"Yeah, I am." Levant said, returning to his seat. "I'm fine."

He was looking down again, but this time it was not depression. The reason was that the blood had rushed to his face, and that his heart, although he was calm, had started to beat just a bit faster.

_Calm down, Levant._ He told himself.

"You still look kind of sick." She said. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Y-yeah." He said, stuttering slightly. "Anyway, are you sure you should be out this late?" Levant asked her. In response, she pouted.

"Don't think I'm just some kid!" She declared. "I'll have you know that I'm older than I look!" He stepped forward, and, acting on his former impulse, embraced her from front to back.

"Go home." He said. "Get some sleep; you'll need it to help you grow. It's unhealthy to stay up a long time." He could feel her in his arms.

She was small, he could say that much. Just like a child, like a little sister to him. He hugged her, probably a little tighter than he meant to. After a few seconds, he released her.

"Go home and get a good night's sleep, okay?" Levant asked her. "It's almost ten, so I think you should be going."

"Okay." She said. For some reason, her voice was quiet, and she didn't look directly into Levant's eyes when she said it. "But you have to go to bed early too, alright?" She said. "You need to stay healthy too." Her eyes were on the dirt, but he could feel the concern behind her words.

"Yeah, alright." He said. "Good night to you."

"Good night." She said, and she kicked off the ground as Levant turned and walked away.

Later, at the mansion, when she arrived again, she happened upon her sister in the foyer.

"Oh, Flan." She said, turning from examining the painting on the wall. "Tell me, do you think that this painting is a little slanted, or is it fine just how it is?" She asked, pointing at a painting on the wall the seemed slightly skewed.

"It looks a bit tilted." The little vampire told her sister, who was dressed similarly to her, only in pink and with blue hair, along with being slightly taller. Her wings were leathery like a bat's as well, the kind of wings vampires usually had. All of these things Flandre recognized in her sister Remilia, the more dignified between them. For as long as Flandre could remember, Remi loved to talk about things Flan found boring, like whether paintings were straight or not, or who had won the last horse race. "But what's wrong with being tilted?"

"Oh Flan." Remilia said, smiling at her. "Your cute little self never changes." Affectionately ruffling her sister's hair, she continued. "So, did you meet your friend again today?"

"Yeah, I did." She said, looking down at the floor. There was a bit of pain in her chest when she thought of him, but she was still calm. Remilia nodded knowingly, as if she already recognized the symptoms.

_It's normal that Remi would know about my friend; she and Sakuya are thick as thieves._ Flandre thought. _But that expression…_

"Sis, do you have a friend like him too?" Flandre asked. "Levant's a really cool guy."

"Levant…Levant…" Remilia said, as if rolling the name around her mouth. "That's a weird name. Where did you meet him?"

"On the edge of the lake, where I always am." Flandre said.

"Did he say anything to you today?" Remilia asked her sister.

"Yeah, he told me to go get some sleep." Flandre said, and, as if only now remembering, she put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, I should go now! Good night, Big Sis!"

"Good night, Flan!" Remilia called out as the cute blonde ran down the corridor to her room. She sighed.

_Good. Flan's getting better, at least._ She went to the living room, or rather, the room in which she received non-vampires. The windows in this room were large, normally making the sunlight horrible for her, but they let in only moonlight at night. She looked up at the moon.

She knew what her sister had been through. Ever since that day, she had tried to be a mother to the girl, but she had always been trapped in that moment, unresponsive, and gleefully destroying until the full moon.

_Last month, Sakuya reported less damage in the basement than usual._ Remilia thought. _That was about when she started talking to that Levant person._ She was about to raise a teacup to her mouth before she realized she had none. Shaking her head, she told herself it didn't matter. _Maybe… Levant is the one who can get through to her?_

She knew about her sister's madness, and the cause behind it. She had been unable to heal the wound, even as she played the role of the mother to perfection.

_Sometimes, there are problems you just can't solve. _She thought, looking at the moon. Then, as if she made a decision, she bit down on her lower lip. Used to the sting of her fangs from many other thoughtful nights by the window, the skin of her face was unhurt.

_Levant, whoever you are, take care of my sister._ She said. _Or I will make it my personal mission to annihilate you._

Blissfully unaware of all of these thoughts directed at him, Levant von Rosenkreuzstillete returned home with a smile on his face. His parents, already knowing about his secret spot, already expected him to be either intense or happy when he returned from his cliffside retreat.

What they were not used to seeing was an unabashed grin from ear to ear, a grin he himself did not seem to be aware of. They let him go up to his room in silence before they started talking.

"Do you think it's a girl?" His mother, leaning from the armchair in front of the fire, asked her husband. He gave a small chuckle and responded "I'd be surprised if it wasn't, he's getting to that age."

The two of them looked fondly up the stairs at their son's room.

_GSG9 Headquarters, Potsdam. _

One of the perks of being in a job such as Central Service was the ability to have a nice office to laze around in during those days when there was little to do that was not already routine. The room had two bookcases on the sides, filled up with binders of requisition forms and red tape. A polished and shined walnut desk, like a throwback to commanders' rooms of old, was placed in the middle, long enough to fit the battle planning maps while narrow enough to be used as an office table. In front of the desk was a pair of armchairs, often used by officers giving reports to their commander. All in all, it was the kind of office where one could simply lounge around and clear one's head, perfect for a commander sending his troops to war.

However, there was no such thing for the commander behind the table. Drowned in the paperwork of peace instead of the bullets of war, the office was turned into an inefficient cubicle. Nevertheless, the office deity persisted in his quest. Expertly reshuffling stacks of paper as he took phone calls on the sleek, black landline phone set on his desk, he managed to calm the office typhoon in time for his appointment.

Three knocks at the door, followed by a "May I come in, Major?"

"Come in, Leutenant Leopold." The man behind the desk who had recently tamed the raging storm of paperwork said. "Close the door behind you." Leopold entered and sat on one of the armchairs in front of the walnut desk. He leaned forward to further engage the Leutenant.

"I'm sorry for using your first name; your last name is quite a mouthful." The Major said. The Major's mouth twitched slightly into a smile. Leopold's expression mirrored his.

"They always told me that Uncle Wolfgang loved to go for a 'villain' ambiance, and they were right." Leopold said. The Major pulled back good-naturedly and turned to the window. Leopold stood up. He had been moved for the simple reason that he had wanted to get ahead in the von Rosenkreuzstillete line. This job was merely a path to that. He was already getting set to leave before the Major spoke.

"It's true what they say about me; that I'm a bit of a megalomaniac." The Major spoke. "But Major Wolfgang von Rosenkreuzstillete is not one of the most feared in the family for nothing." The Major said this, and in one smooth motion, extended his hand towards Leutenant Leopold. Four blue magical spears, clear as day and brilliant as a metal rod, hovered menacingly around his hand, each one of them aimed at the Leutenant. He could almost feel the killing intent, the razor-sharp blades and deadly points of the spears that were aimed at him.

Immediately Leopold understood why his uncle had always been seated at the right hand of the table, next to his father. He now understood why he had been tasked to finish the clan's mission, to annihilate every supernatural threat to humanity. He now understood why this man moved as a lion, doing as he pleased in the house of von Rosenkreuzstillete.

He now realized that the man he was facing was both a man and a monster. They continued to look at each other. The Major smiled at him, holding the spear steady.

With a wave of his right hand, the spears dissipated, and with his left he motioned Leopold to sit. He did, stiffly sitting as if he were ready to fight. Pretending not to notice, the Major talked as if the previous episode of spears and killing intent had not taken place. "Now, on to business." He said, in a professional, businesslike tone. Leopold was surprised that with just one sentence, he had been put into a productive state of mind.

_Never have any illusions._ He thought. _This is a man who has taken that to the extreme. He reminds people exactly what they have to do with both fear and kind words._

"As I was saying." He said, clearly enunciating each word, like a teacher that had caught a student not listening. "The situation is becoming critical quickly. It involves your cousin Levant." The Leutenant started.

"Levant!? But!"

"He hasn't found out." The Major said, breaking into a grin. "On the contrary, he's done exactly what we wanted."

"You can't mean…"

"Yes. The Rose Cross has found its mark." The Major said. "We already have the means to cross over. On the next full moon, you will lead a strike team over there to deliver the coup de grace." The Major's grin extended from ear to ear. "Is this enough of an opportunity for you, young Leopold? To finally exterminate the threat we let slip by all those years ago?" He asked, clenching his fist and staring out at the window. "Remember, we seek glory without illusion, strength without peer! Even at the cost of the weak, we will be strong!"

Leopold, fully caught up in the moment, responded with a raised voice of his own. "For Rosenkreuz!"

"Exactly." The Major said. "Now we plan." His locket inadvertently opened, revealing the pattern inside onto his military coat.

It was exactly the same as the emblem on Levant's bedroom wall.

In the next two hours that he went over the plan with Leopold. With a good will, they went through every element of the plan that was slowly unfolding in the basement of GSG9 Headquarters.

If Remilia had seen the two of them, she would have labelled them crazier than Flandre.

But they would try to kill her on the spot, and that would not be comfortable.

_I really don't want to stop! I really don't, but I have to sleep! I hope I'll have time before the next delivery!_

I put the book on my bedside and went to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a big day. Tomorrow was the day I put the first step last.


	4. Miscellaneous Movements

I can't sleep._ I told myself. _I think I'll have a read.

_With those thoughts I created a little light on the tip of my finger, grabbed the book off of my bedside table, and continued to read._

Untitled:

_GSG9 Safehouse: Brandenburg, west of Berlin. 0800 AM._

The seats in the audience hall were all filled by men who themselves were full. Dressed in full battle gear, their black flack jackets, denim pants, and helmets with visors that turned them from men to soldiers, they filled the rows with their gear and their stature. All in all, there were fifty of them taking their seats in the audience hall. They faced forward onto a slightly raised stage with a single podium on it. Behind it was a banner with a silver cross of roses, dabbed with red in the center, on the top, and on the left arm, which was the right to any viewer.

Surprisingly, though, none of them were in the same section of GSG9, but they moved as if they had know each other for years, even forming little groups and sitting with friends to chat. Behind the stage were the two commanding officers. Both in full battle dress, they were dressed and polished to the point that even the top brass would have no complaints. Their smart hats and jackets reminiscent of Second World War generals distinguished them from the crowd in battle gear.

"All of the necessary preparations are complete?" The more decorated and older one said.

"We've been in contact with the parents." The other said, the locket around his neck reflecting some of the light. "The prisoners have been moved to the basement. Training on flying targets has been going well."

"Perfect." The older one said, and he looked up at the ceiling. For a bit they were silent behind the stage.

"Don't you just love these family get-togethers, Leopold?" The taller, older one asked the young Leutenant, turning quickly to him. He wore a smile as he said this, facing the younger officer.

Leopold could not tell if it was the smile one used to welcome guests or the smile a madman used when he was about to shoot you. He looked down on the floor.

"I always hated them." Leopold said. "People never talked about achieving, only achievements."

"Then rejoice." The older man stood up and took steps up the stage. He strode up the stairs confidently, and the effect was immediate. The men immediately quieted down, seeing a man who was clearly a commanding officer on stage. He turned to Leopold when he was on stage. He motioned for him to join him on stage. Not the kind of soldier to defy orders, he went up. When he got there, the older one turned to the podium and nodded at him. His gaze seemed to say: _Formalities need to be observed._ Leopold nodded.

"Presenting Major Wolfgang von Rosenkreuzstillete!" Leopold made this declaration loud enough for the whole hall to hear as the Major stepped up to the microphone.

_If this was just a family gathering they would be cheering right now._ Leopold thought. _But we're all here for one reason only._ As Leopold thought this, the man at the podium spoke.

"Gentlemen of the Rose Cross." He said. "I welcome you to this meeting today. I'm sure that we are wondering what our unusual training was for, no?." Heads in the crowd nodded, agreeing. Their commanding officer had requested exclusive training time for this fifty-man unit. They had this entire building to themselves, where they practiced their signature magic, the blue spears wielded by those of the Rose Cross. Flying targets had been the order of the day, and they had learned how to use their flight even in full battle gear. Interesting combinations of flash grenades and magical spears had been built.

The hunters of the Rose Cross had never been so prepared. A month and even weighed down by modern equipment, they were almost at their peak again.

"We will need all that strength, and far more." The Major said, and his iron voice began to come out, the iron voice that had commanded squads to "Breach!", the voice that made one's blood boil with the desire for adventure. "In a month, we will finally destroy the last of the vampires our ancestors spent years to hunt!"

A cheer went up. It was always far more heartening to hear the words from the horse's mouth. Leopold himself, though he had known this already, let out a cheer.

"They have escaped to a world we knew nothing of and normally cannot access. However, with the generous assistance of the Japanese Self-Defense Force, we now have a way into their new world!" A cheer that shook the walls went up, with a smattering of kind words for the Japanese, and a few remarks on the efficacy of the JSDF. The Major did not wait for them to quiet down before continuing, instead choosing to overpower their voices with his own.

"Today we fight, not only for our safety, but for glory! Tonight, we shall revel with the heads of the vampires on a plate!" A cheer, far louder than any up to this point, with even the normally calm Leopold on his feet, forcing the Major to talk into the microphone. "Silence!" The Major yelled, and there was silence. Leopold was shocked at why a man would cut his own momentum like that. _He had them screaming! Why would he stop them!? _The Major took a breath and continued.

"Remember, even as we revel, that the enemy is dangerous. Remember your grandfathers who died in the Sacking of 1728! Remember they who charged into battle so recklessly and were killed!" Leopold looked up at the Major and saw that there were tears in his eyes.

_Those are the tears of a soldier losing a mentor, of a son losing a father._ Leopold didn't even notice when a tear of his own rolled down his cheek. There was silence.

Then the commander spoke in a voice that was soft, almost like a whisper to Leopold. "Be careful. I want their heads, but I don't want casualties. Train hard. Work together. Complete the mission, but never forget one another. Dismissed."

The Major stepped off the stage and left the room in silence, leaving the men like statues. Leopold, coming to his senses, hurriedly stepped out to follow his commanding officer. He turned the corner to the left, seeing the Major's retreating back. Hearing his footsteps, the Major looked at him. His jaw was clamped shut, and it almost seemed like an effort to talk.

"What is it, Leutenant." A flat statement.

"On behalf of the me, I'd like to thank you for your consideration." He said, saluting. "It is a pleasure serving with you."

The Major did not nod. He merely responded.

"Give the illusion that you care for a man, and he will fight twice as hard with no cost to yourself. Remember that, little Leopold." He said, turning his back on the younger officer.

Leopold swallowed and remembered that his uncle was a madman and a monster.

Jaeger and Ulrika von Rosenkreuzstillete, by comparison, were both average and confused.

They were average because they had married and settled down normally. Living with their son, Levant, Jaeger worked in a large multinational bank while Ulrika stayed at home. Jaeger was tall and muscular, with thinning blonde hair as the mark of his age. Ulrika used to be a candidate for a model, and she retained her slender figure, above-average height, and her lustrous hair to this day, though not quite at the level that she once had. They owned a two-floor house with their back to a park, a cheerful enough place.

They were confused because out of the blue, they had received a letter from Jaeger's brother, Leopold, to not let Levant out into the backyard at all costs. As they read the letter, they were confused for a number of reasons.

First, they were confused because the family usually made no effort to contact them. The relationship had been strained ever since Jaeger had left the army due to health concerns. The one member of the family closest to them would be Leopold from GSG9, who was the one who wrote to them, and that was about once every six months. His last letter had arrived just last week. Also, they were confused because of the instructions. The instructions were extremely peculiar and specific, with no reason given for them.

But on the bottom, one red circle changed their mind. It was actually just a simple stamp, but it was an extremely important stamp.

The form of a rose cross, and below it, the words: _Under order of Wolfgang von Rosenkreuzstillete._

Every member of House Rosenkreuzstillete had no illusions, and they all regarded Wolfgang as the crazy one. But he was also the head of the family, which meant that following him was something you did knowing that there were consequences for not doing so. Nobody held any illusions on that point.

And so it was done. On the night of the full moon, after the _Grensatzgruppe _had been briefed, after the parents had been notified, but before all of them could take action, there was the full moon. The two stayed on the cliff over the water and talked about worthless things.

They talked about their friends, their family, the food they had eaten, the books they had read. The music they had listened to. Perfectly ordinary conversations, punctuated with laughter and cheer. Eventually, though, sprawled on the grass, they ran out of things to say.

As if on cue, the fireflies began to dance in front of us.

"It's beautiful." Levant let the small talk escape his lips. Flandre snickered.

"Only little kids think fireflies are beautiful." She said, but she still stared at them intently.

"Hey, now who's looking at the fireflies." Levant said, affectionately reaching over and placing his hand on her head. She rolled over in the grass to face him, delivering her line with a slight pout.

"That's not fair, Flandre's still a kid!" At this Levant laughed softly, pulling her closer, to the point that his elbow was on her shoulder. They looked at each other, bathed in the moonlight.

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Levant's watch chimed. She had to go home at ten, and so did he. He stood up, but Flandre didn't get up.

"I'm tired. Carry me home." She said.

"I have to go home." Levant said.

"Then sleep over, I'm sure your parents won't mind." Flandre insisted.

"They will."

"But I want to talk more!" She pouted again, throwing her gaze sideways down onto the ground under the grass.

"Then I'll ask if I can stay over next month." Levant said.

"But that's so loooong~!" Flandre complained. "Why do you want to leaaavvveeeee!?"

Levant stopped. He turned around and knelt beside the vampire who was still on the ground.

"I don't want to go. If I had a choice, I would just stay here the whole night and play with Flan." Levant said, just like his parents had once said to him. "But there are times when we can't get what we want, when there are other things we have to think about." At this, Flan's eyes fell down to her knees, and she fell silent. Levant stayed where he was. Time became irrelevant again.

"…sure…come back." Flandre mumbled.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Make sure you come back next month, or I'll really be mad!" The little girl yelled. Levant's chest was pulled up for a moment before he took a breath.

"Of course I'll be back." He said, walking back towards his house. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." He turned and walked away, carrying the same mix of sadness, longing, and hope that had been his standard emotional cocktail ever since they had first met.

He had no way of knowing that the girl felt exactly the same way as she flew over the lake. But midway through the flight, she floated in place to look at the moon. She had no way of knowing that the boy, on his path back home, had also stopped.

_Hey moon, make sure Levant comes back next month._ She thought to herself before speeding off.

She didn't know it, but Levant smiled as a moonbeam fell upon him. It was as if the playful moonlight was telling him: "Don't forget your date."

He walked home beaming.

_I fell asleep on the book, out of exhaustion rather than boredom._


	5. Carry Your Cross

_World Line: Convergence beginning. Synchronization ready. Beginning temporal coalescence in three… two… one._

_All parameters met. Beginning data transfer now._

_Data is prepared. Injection of data into casuality is complete._

_World line contradictions and discrepancies have been removed; all systems go. _

_Begin._

It must have been at least three weeks since that afternoon.

His parents were sitting at the table during dinner time, and they were absolutely silent as he took his seat.

That in itself was a warning sign of things to come, as normally they would have already started talking. Before Levant could take the first spoonful in, though, his mother swallowed, as if she wished to say something. With that, Levant put down his spoon just in time to have his mother begin talking.

"Levant, there's something I need to tell you." She said. "We've been getting worried about you going out at night, so you can't go from here on out." She exhaled and continued. "We think you'll need more time to focus on your studies and so that you can get some good sleep."

"Mom, what's wrong?" Levant asked. "My grades are fine, and I'm getting enough sleep for my age." He said, perfectly honestly. _Well, some of that is sleeping in class, but what they don't know won't hurt them._

"Your mother is absolutely serious about this." His father said. He sounded tired as well, as if he just wanted this conversation to be over. "What's been said is said."

That was perfectly understandable. For the years that they had taken care of Levant, they had never once had occasion to punish him.

So for a pair of independent, fully grown adults who are only now being forced to punish their undeserving son due to a family to which they felt not obligation but fear, they were doing quite well. And although they had expected opposition from Levant on this matter, he was actually quiet.

But the silence came on heavy and deep, as if one of them had just been plunged into depression.

Levant ate quickly and silently, retreating to his room once it was over. For half a minute there was no sound.

"Did we do the right thing, Jaeger?" His mother turned towards her husband and asked that in a caring voice. "Are you sure he'll be alright?"

"I don't know." Jaeger said, the memories of his days in training with the von Rosenkreuzstilletes fresh in his memory.

His family had not given up their martial pride, even in this age. Two pickpockets who had attempted to take on Jaeger von Rosenkreuzstillete, rusty as he was, ended up both on the floor and gasping for air in the span of ten seconds. And he was merely "average" among his brothers and sisters.

"Can we be sure that he'll be safe?" His wife continued to question him, her lip curving into an expression of worry.

"I don't know." He said again, softer this time, and held her close.

He had decided a week ago that a peaceful resolution would no longer come. As such, he had prepared for this day accordingly.

He had made sure that all of his heavy winter clothing was ready, that he got enough sleep for his body to be well-rested, and he even drank the bitter coffee they sold in cans that he so detested.

Today the boy's sanctuary felt like a prison. But unknown to his wardens, today would be the day of the Great Escape.

The analog wall clock, plastic hands still running, read 9:30 PM. His wardens were probably busy working right now, heavily reducing the guard on him.

_Perfect conditions for a breakout._

Looking out at the full moon in the sky, Levant stared out in longing, sighing as he had his elbow on the windowsill.

He remembered the figure of the girl, strikingly beautiful as it was silhouetted against the moonlight.

The nights they had spent after, just talking and learning about one another. He had taught her how to draw, with her laughing and smiling the whole way. They had exchanged jokes, quick words, and other little things that brought a smile to his face.

He reaffirmed his decision in a second. After all, wearing a trench coat, a sweater, and your thickest denim pants in the middle of your room could only mean one thing.

Outside of his room's unlocked window, there was a metal pipe that led straight to the ground. He opened the window to the night's cold. His body unconsciously shivered as he put his hands on the metal pipe, which had had the heat sucked out of it by the weather. He put his hand on it, as if testing it, only to be kicked back by a frozen backlash.

"Tch, it's cold." He said, pulling a pair of leather gloves out of the drawer and putting them on. "Okay, let's do this." He stretched his arms, extending his right arm to the left and pulling it back, repeating this procedure with the left. He went through the standard arm and leg stretches, the cold air coming in from the outside slowly numbing him to the strangely cold spring day.

He stepped onto the windowsill and grabbed the pipe with both hands. Still feeling the biting cold, he swung onto the pipe, putting all of his weight on it through his hands and the soles of his rubber shoes.

The first thing that he realized was that he was falling.

"Whoa, whoa, aaaaah!" He yelled, grabbing onto the pipe with all his might as he continued to slide. "Aaaah!" Forcing strength into the muscles in his hands, he forced his fingers to grab on to the metal for dear life, stopping him half a floor away from hitting the ground.

What he had not forseen was that pipe, completely wet with condensed water, would have given him no purchase, and it was pure luck that he was able to clench his hands before the nasty fall would have had him land badly. Luckily, he had slid down just far enough to bring him to the first floor, very close to the ground.

But it was still a ways to go for someone unused to climbing. He closed his eyes and made the jump. Flexing his knees, he tried to brace himself as much as possible for the impact.

"Agh." With a slight exhalation, he stretched out his knees. There was a little pain, but already it was dissipating. Streching himself out in order to remove the last of the pain in his legs, he turned to look at the full moon.

_I won't turn my back on my promise._

Levant hugged himself through his coat. The night was unusually cold for spring, but Levant had been prepared for that. Dressed in a lighter version of his winter gear, he turned his back on the house and marched down the familiar path.

_I know how it is to have a promise broken; I won't have that happen._

He resolutely trod the familiarly narrow forest path.

Leopold bent over the battle plans for tomorrow's morning assault. Scouts had already mapped out the route, with their insertion site in a forest next to a small town. They would then have to fly (a common occurrence in the area according to patrols), headed east until they reached a large lake. Continuing to fly, they would land on an island in the middle of the lake, where the Scarlet Devil Mansion, home of their targets. Leopold had just been going over these, taking note of weak points and dangerous spots in the terrain. His eyes moved quickly and thoroughly over the paper, checking the plan one last time. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as he continued to read the plans.

Every second saved was a second less of danger to his men. Every ambush point he could remove from the route was one less opportunity for the enemy to surprise them. Although there was barely any information available on the enemy's defences and numbers, the fewer surprises that they had to worry about that before they threw themselves into the mostly unknown enemy, the better.

He would iron out ever last weakness in the plan before it became a factor. He would not fail.

That was when his hand glowed blue. That was a sign of a possible curveball in the plan. He straightened his neck and scanned the room.

Most of the men who would be on active duty had already returned to their beds. However, their commander and his superior, Major Wolfgang, was still at his desk, in a meditative state that was almost like sleep. However, he had left an order that if anything happened he was to be roused.

Leopold made his way over to the desk and tapped it with his fingers.

"Levant's gone through." Leopold said. "Shall we use the backup plan?"

"No, that's just as planned." The Major responded, standing up and pulling his coat over himself. "I'll be going off for now." He said, heading out. "Get some sleep for the night, Leutenant." Leopold looked back over his shoulder to his commanding officer. He seemed determined as he walked out, and it reminded him of something he had seen in the plans. As he had gone over then, he had seen a part of the plans marked contingencies. It had simply said: "Tie up all the loose ends."

Maybe that was why he raised his voice against his commanding officer. "Don't tell me…" Like a wolf, his commanding officer turned with a manic gleam in his eye, as if piercing straight through to Leopold's soul.

The lights seemed to flash dimmer for a second as the Major's eyes fixed themselves to Leopold's.

The cold eyes of a soldier.

"You're a von Rosenkreuzstillete." The Major responded. "You're not allowed to delude yourself." The older man raised his pistol, a Beretta M92F. The large black gun stood in perfect contrast to his white officer's gloves. "Don't forget that."

"It's unnecessary, sir!" He raised his voice, yet still keeping it within the bounds of polite speech. "Why do you have to do this!?"

"I understand you care for Levant. He's of our blood." The Major responded. "But by associating with the enemy he is a threat and is fully disposable." The Major said. "I'm going to go clean up the loose ends."

"It doesn't make any sense!" Leopold yelled. When he had been given this job he had envisioned glory, fighting, and winning, but instead his commanding officer was turning this job into a war before the fight even began. "I can understand Levant, but those two did nothing wrong!"

"They let Levant out of the house." The Major replied. "I anticipated that, but they were ordered not to." He said, pulling back the breechblock of the pistol, exposing the barrel for a split-second before it hid inside the breechblock again. "Orders are orders." He said, as if to the air. "Remember that."

"But—" He could say nothing more to the man who stated his reasons with utmost conviction.

"Your parents told me you were a man, Leopold. Don't tell me you're just nothing but a child." The Major's voice dismissed him.

Before Leopold could say another word the door closed, leaving him alone in the planning room. His hand had moved to within an inch of his own USP .45 model weapon. He exhaled and turned off the lights, walking back to his room. When he got there, he turned on the lights and prepared his strike outfit. The black cloth and plastic, the pockets filled with spare magazines, and the sleek, black visor that would shield his face was there. Beside it was Heckler and Koch's G36C, which he would be taking into battle. He took it down from the rack and began to dutifully disassemble it to clean it, a process he was sure his fellow warriors were already going through. During this entire process, he forced himself to keep quiet as he cleaned the gun again.

He forced himself to keep quiet even if his commander was a monster beyond the enemies he'd be up against.

Start playing this: watch?v=GT7_Y1pIBb4

_World Line Convergence 50% completed. _

_Confirmed all systems go. Stage 2 begins now._

The girl sat on the rock. Strangely, she was no longer staring at the ball of light in the sky, the moon.

Rather, she stared at the forest path with an intensity even she was surprised by. Focusing all of her senses down that path, she could hear the chirping of birds and the noise of the crickets who had not already gone home for the day.

She averted her eyes, forcing herself not to think about who would come up that path, when, and why they were so late, as well as why she was so worked up that she had to force herself to look away.

She thought about how, after that day, she had been shunned. Forced to live down in the basement, barely ever being let out to see the light of day, and eternally in solitude, with not a single friend to share her pain. That was her existence, at least until the boy had come into her life. The boy of five months past, her fast friend the clumsy artist boy who had opened up an entirely new range of feelings within her.

Normally, she felt like this was just an extended reprieve from the basement, a moment of light and freedom before she was forced back into the dark, with the moon as her only confessor and confidante.

What had happened was that she had ended up treasuring every moment, feeling every bit and sense of life as alive when she had been with him. She meant every smile, she felt every sting, and she talked absolutely freely for the first time in years. Cherishing every moment, it also pained her to see him go, and the pain would last until he returned to her.

She didn't know until now if it was his casual manner, his artist's talent, his carefree smile, or her own natural curiosity. But she realized it, looking down the path on their fifth moonlit night.

_He was the only one to treat me like just another person. When he would tell me how he drew I was sucked in, completely curious. When he told me stories, I laughed with him, cried with him, complained with him, and cheered with him. When he waved goodbye I could see my own sadness in his eyes._

_He…. He knows me and I know him. I want to see him again._

_So he'll be here._

The little vampire continued to wait for the boy with the sketchpad.

He knocked on the door. The Beretta M92F in his right hand was fully loaded. Eight shots, including the round in the chamber, of which he would only need two. His car, procured from the GSG9 garage, was waiting outside for him to finish the deed.

"Yes, who is it?" The voice of a friendly, cheery businessman wafted out from behind the door. The man at the door was ready as the door slowly opened, revealing the warm yellow light from within.

She heard his footsteps. She heard his pants as he moved up the path, burdened by all his heavy clothing.

_Serves you right for making me wait, you idiot! Get over here!_

She lunged towards the rustling in the bushes.

He had no hesitation, as the man whom he would have once called his brother had betrayed him and disobeyed his orders. Allowing oneself to be deceived by emotions and pain was tantamount to betrayal for the Rosenkreuzstilletes. As his brother's head, with its characteristically curly hair, appeared at the door, Wolfgang showed no hesitation. He pulled the door with his left foot, knocking his brother off-balance. With his left hand he pushed his brother to the doorjamb, the door opening fully as the force of a commando's body and muscles was applied to the beefy businessman Jaeger von Rosekreuzstillete was smashed onto the hinges. It was surprising that the door didn't just fall over on its hinges at that moment. Before anyone could react, Wolfgang's Beretta had already moved to Jaeger's chin, just in front of his neck.

Jaeger kicked out, connecting with one of Wolfgang's knees, sending a shooting pain through the Major. However, he had anticipated this, and using the immediate bending over of his body to his advantage, he kicked off with his left leg, driving his shoulder into Jaeger's stomach. Undeterred, the brawny banker brought his elbows down on the back of his brother.

But he had been rendered slow by his years out of practice, hitting only the air that Wolfgang von Rosenkreuzstillete had just vacated.

The man himself was already inside the house, pointing his gun at the businessman.

"Remember, brother." He said, his gun barrel already pointed at his brother's center mass, that region between the neck and hip that all shooters were trained to aim for. "We shall have no delusion."

The gun barrel flared with an orange light thrice, the exploding sound of bullets being fired following quickly after.

She tackled the boy for whom she had been waiting without warning. She pushed her face into his chest, forcing herself onto him so much that she was afraid she might break him. They tumbled into the tree, his back still shielding her from the impact. As soon as they were still, she started yelling at him.

"That's your punishment for being late, got it!?" She yelled. "Don't do it again!"

The boy smiled, holding his back with his left hand.

"I missed you too." He told the little girl.

And silence was all that remained.

Three dark, red holes appeared in the gray blazer, but the man wearing it was already moving towards the shooter.

As soon as he had missed his elbow he knew that he would be shot.

But as he pulled the knife from his right pocket, the knife he always kept in case he would fight for his life for one day, none of that mattered to him.

Wolfgang von Rosenkreuzstillete was surprised to see the glint of a knife blade coming towards him. He twisted to avoid the blade, but his brother was still his brother, and with all of the strength Wolfgang himself possessed, he slashed at the face of the commando. There was neither time to react nor to block. The commando took a slash across the face, the knife's blade slashing from his cheek down to his neck. However, Jaeger had missed the all-important vitals such as eyes or the major blood vessels in the neck.

The gun rang again, and the report of light and sound meant the end of the fight. The banker, now with four bullets in him, fell to the ground.

There were three dark red holes in his thoracic region and one straight in his head. Behind him, Ulrika stared in shock at the scene, having seen the whole thing from the kitchen.

Without hesitation, Wolfgang von Rosenkreuzstillete turned around and shot her twice, killing Ulrika instantly. He switched his gun to his left hand and placed his right hand to his face. He immediately began to search the house for anything that could be used for medical supplies, before deciding that he would throw another wrench into the plan. He popped out his phone.

"Execute plan C, Leopold." He said simply when the other side picked up, and he closed the phone.

He returned to his car once that night, and the car was still there the next morning. It was investigated by the police when they reached the crime scene, but there was nobody who could recall seeing it. Searching the car, they found nothing within it, and no way to trace the identity of the driver or the owner.

"Hey, come on, come on, don't you trust me?" The little girl stamped her feet indignantly. "These wings aren't just for show, you know!"

"I do, but…" Levant said. He knew in his mind that the little girl could fly, he had seen her do it many times, but to actually have her carry him…

"Don't worry about it, I'm used to flying~!" She smiled wickedly. "Flandre's strong, so unless you get all squirmy I won't drop you!"

"I—I'm not sure that that's the best idea…"

"Too late!" She yelled, grabbing him by the arm and wrenching him into the sky. She watched as his eyes widened in fear and he gave a scream with equal parts fear and surprise. She giggled. "Come on, you'll like it!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He said, dangling precariously back and forth by the vampire's single arm. The sudden feeling of having his feet above the ground and the fear that came from that were replaced with warmth and a cheer. He kicked his feet, first the left, then the right. He started to laugh.

"Hey, I'm flying!" He yelled. "You were right, this is fun!"

"I told you you'd love it!" She said, with a grin a mile wide on her face. "Now, let's see if you can handle this!" She lifted up, flying high above the treetops surrounding the lake. Levant could see the water moving away from him, and the green grass quickly entered his vision, or as much of it as worked in the dim moonlight. Below him was arrayed a picturesque row of trees ad water, bathed in the soft white moonlight. Without knowing it, the boy shed a tear. The scene had brought back the lake he had lived near in his childhood, when his parents had taken him on vacation to the family estate, far out in the forests and lakes.

He smiled, and he grasped the girl's hand tighter. She squeezed back, not saying a word.

_It's as if she knows me front and back._ He thought to himself. _She knows when to be quiet and she knows when to cut loose._

_I'm lucky to know someone like her._

He had no way of knowing that the girl's thoughts were almost exactly the same.

_He'll come for me. I don't care how late he is, he still came for me. The way he walks is different, so I know that even though he's in pain he came to see me._

_Thank you._

Their hands gripped each other tighter as they came up to the red-brick mansion. Flandre broke the silence.

"We're almost there." She said, not looking at him.

"Oh." He said.

To any casual observer, it would have looked like they didn't want to land. But nevertheless, they flew over the wall, completely ignoring the gate with its slumbering sentinel. Instead they landed right in front of the double doors to the mansion.

The first thing Levant noticed about it was that it was quite large, three floors high and five windows wide on either side. It looked like it was built to house anywhere from a large family to a small army. The girl, undeterred, threw open the door and called "Sister, Sakuya, I'm home! And I brought someone!"Levant was pulled along by her energy, absently walking into the foyer, kept immaculately clean by the silver-haired maid who came in through the door, walking as if doing a perfect entry from stage right.

"Welcome back, Flandre." She said, bowing. "This must be the friend you were talking about."

"Yeah, it is! His room is ready, right?" She asked cheerfully while Levant just stared, surprised at the sight of a real maid.

"Yes, of course." The maid responded.

"Thanks~!" She yelled at the top of her voice, rushing off and pulling Levant with her.

"Hey, ow, don't pull so suddenly!"

"Come on, I'm going to show you what's in here!" She yelled. "We've got a big house, so there's lots to see!"

The maid smiled, looking their way. Behind her a bat landed o the ground, turning into the shape of her master.

"What's the time, Sakuya?" She asked.

"Ten-fifteen at night." The maid said, her silver pocket watch closed again. "It's a good bet that this boy will make it for a long time past this morning."

"Good." Remilia said. She looked out the window at the moonlight, saying nothing. The maid was silent as well.

It seemed perfectly natural, though, as their faces said that no words needed to be said.

They both knew that the power of the full moon at 10 PM was not enough to keep the girl sane. Usually, by this time, she would be rampaging in the basement.

But now she was walking around happily and normally, like the girl she was. It should, by all rights, have been a happy location for the blue-haired vampire framed by the moonlight. The maid knew this as well.

Their faces were unreadable as they continued staring into the night.

The officer was at the head of his men, all kitted out in their black combat suits. In front of them were two girls, one of whom was a waist-length blonde in a lavender blouse and a darker purple skirt, plus a mob cap, while the other was a brunette with a white blouse paired with a black skirt, plus a black fedora. Both of them seemed well enough, college students as they were, except for the fact that they were taking part in a special forces operation a quarter of the world away from home.

"You know the orders. Open the barrier."

The blonde said nothing, merely stretching out her arm. The air shook, creating a wave that had no real substance.

She only did this because she knew that there was a gun aimed straight at her back and a threat behind it to back it up.

But for the officer staring into the night, he could see that the forest had changed. There were no pine trees there, instead replacing them with trees others had seen while visiting the JSDF. Leopold took the other girl.

"Is this the same place that the scouts took you?" Leopold asked.

"Yeah, it is." She said. "You're pretty pitiful Special Forces if you can't see even that."

"I take no chances with the safety of my men, Ms. Renko." Leopold said. "I have to make sure." Addressing his men, he continued.

"Alright boys, this is our insertion and our extraction. Split up into the defense and the strike teams. If all goes well, we'll be back for lunch tomorrow." The men didn't nod, only began moving to their positions. Leopold himself took up a gun and led the strike team to position. "Oh, and someone escort those two back to headquarters." One of the men from the defense team broke off to bring the two back.

They had taken up a position in a forest, not far from their target, but far enough to be ignored by their surveillance. It was also ideal for their purpose, as the forest would prevent the other inhabitants of the world from finding them or noticing them.

"A new world full of the supernatural, huh?" Leopold asked himself. "Let's see it."

In the night they would not be seen moving; in the day they would strike with precision and accuracy, efficiently destroying the target.

At least, that was the plan. In truth, they had no knowledge of the enemy and barely any idea of the layout of the mansion, putting them at a distinct disadvantage. This also distanced them from their usual style, which is to go in knowing every inch of the battlefield. At times like this, Special Forces were highly disadvantaged.

But the Special Forces thrive on suffering.

"And this is going to be your room." The little girl said, throwing open the door to the room. Although it hadn't been used in a while, the four-poster bed still stood soft and ready to be slept in on the left side. The wallpaper was a maroon with thin yellow stripes, a pattern that encouraged refinement and elegance at all times. There was another one of this mansion's shiny walnut doors to the left, probably leading to a bathroom. There was also a writing desk in on the right wall, with two comfortable armchairs between that and the bed. Finally, two curtains, of a lighter shade of maroon than the walls, covered the far wall. "So how is it?" She asked.

Levant smiled. "It looks great." He said, sitting down on the four-poster. The girl was still standing, as if she wanted to say something more.

"Since I know you love to draw, I got something else for you." She said. "Behold!"

And with that she threw open the curtains, revealing a majestic view of the lake.

The water was black, except for a gentle cone of white light right under the moon, marked by the shining peaks and pitch-black troughs of the water. The water was mostly serene, stretching out to the sides until it reached the cliffs, which had a sharp black silhouette in the light of the moon. The water extended all the way to the horizon, leaving the cone of light's ending hanging over the end of vision, creating an effect where it was as if the moon had come down onto the water and was spilling its light over the surface of the lake.

Without even knowing it, he had already stood up and walked around the four-poster to stare out the window. The girl said nothing as she looked up at his serious expression.

Then without warning, the boy turned around and embraced her. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

She couldn't speak.

"You've done so much for me. Thanks." Levant said.

The girl left the room with a slightly sad smile on her face.

_He returns my feelings. _She thought. _That's great._

_But will he do the same when I go insane?_

She shuddered, dreading tomorrow morning.


	6. Pounding at the Door

The girl stared at her hand in wonder. Even in the low light its plae white skin was clearly visible.

_I… I can still think._ She thought. It was a miracle, as normally, by this time she would have gone insane. For years that had been standard for her, and looking at her hand would have brought her nothing but rage.

But there she was. Her consciousness was alive. Lucid. Sane, in every sense of the word. In the middle of the morning when the moon begins to wane.

She didn't know what to say, instead standing there in complete silence. Taking this opportunity, her thoughts strayed to the boy.

The boy who had stumbled upon her on that day half a year away.

The boy who had not cared if she was a vampire who could suck his blood; in fact kill him with a bad touch or a stray bite.

The boy who had treated her as a boy should any girl.

The boy who was oblivious to her feelings, always going forward as if they were a cheerful pair of friends.

And at that time, she realized, the boy she both wanted to be with and could not be with forever.

She didn't know how she had come to this conclusion, and she didn't want to know, feeling that knowing would only hurt her more with the methods.

_I can't let him see me._ She said to herself. _Not until I'm sure._

It was a strange feeling for Levant, to wake up in a room that wasn't his. He had never slept over at another's house, so he was unaccustomed to spending the night in a room that was not his own. However, the natural fear and uneasiness was easily dissipated once he looked around the room, and by the time he had put his head upon the pillow he was snug as if he had lived in the palatial room for ages. It seemed as if everything was perfect in its place to make him more comfortable, with everything being exactly where he would have put it.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a benefit of extremely good time management and attention to detail. Two things that people around the world still need to learn, and that will definitely serve us well in life. But I digress… oh, Levant's out of the bath.

Levant left the bath, fully dressed in the clothes that had been provided for him. They were still at home, so it was simple stuff, a beige collared shirt and a pair of black slacks, both of which seemed to fit him just perfectly. It surprised him, though, that they wore such clothes even inside the house. He wondered for a second whether the little ball of sunshine that had brought him here was asleep, and whether it would be a good idea to wake her up. Even as he did all this, he walked right out the door and into the corridor.

"Good morning. Please let me know if there is anything you need." The sudden voice shocked him, and he jumped to the right, turning his head towards the sound.

The source of the noise was a maid with translucent wings on her back, long black hair, and wearing the blue French maid uniform that seemed to be the standard outfit for maids of the mansion.

"Um, er, ah…" Levant said. He had never had anyone serve him, and to have a shock like this just after waking up is something on the extreme side.

She continued to look at Levant, as if waiting for an order. Levant suddenly thought that she might not move unless given an order.

"I just got here yesterday and I'm still not very familiar with the mansion, so… could you show me around?"

"The Mistress' little sister should have showed you around yesterday, but you must have been tired." She said. "There should be enough time before breakfast today. Come with me."

"Thanks." He said. She fluttered a few inches above the ground, showing him around. First she gave the boy a quick rundown of what they would be covering; the clock tower, the library, the foyer which he had undoubtedly seen, and the dining hall, after which they set off. Very quickly Levant got bored of looking at the same crimson paint on the walls, and so his mind began to wander.

To the girl, and why she was not awake, and why she was not playing around. Normally, he would have expected her to cheerfully charge him, possibly knocking him down onto the corridor, then laughing good-naturedly at him while he was down before she helped him pick himself up. Following this, he looked carefully around every corner, looking for the slightest hint of the shadow of the little girl.

But as the day wore on he realized that she was not there, and thought it away with the explanation that _maybe she's sleepy from yesterday, _or maybe _she's just going to try a bigger trick on me later, so I should be ready._ In this state, they passed through the clock tower, Levant paying scarce attention to the gears that kept the hands of the great clock running, rather looking at every hiding spot and waiting for the girl to show herself.

As the sightseeing continued, though, he realized that she was not there, and that she would not be coming out.

_Why am I worried at all?_ He asked himself, walking past another one of the mansion's many exquisite paintings. This one was acrylic, and well done to the point that it almost looked like the real thing. _Knowing that girl, she'll be fine no matter what happens._ They turned a corridor to the foyer where he had entered last night.

He stopped. He clearly remembered the girl's enthusiasm, how she had put everything into bringing him in, with her unabashed smile and her cheerful little hops. Also, the way she had seemed to throw herself around, as if she was moving with far more energy than was required as she had led him up to his room.

There was no way that a girl like that would allow him to go around the house on his own. He knew that the girl was possessive like a child.

_I need to find her right away. I'll need to come across the vampire or the maid to do that._

"Is there a problem?" The maid asked in a neutral tone of voice, with just a hint of good-natured questioning in it.

"The little sister…" He said absently, staring at the space where the girl had burst in through the door, with him in tow. The door seemed now more of an obstacle and a forbidden zone than ever, preventing Levant from leaving. "I'd like to visit her."

The maid nodded, as if she had been expecting to be instructed so. "Alright. Follow me to the basement."

_I need to find her._ He thought, as the maid led him down a set of stairs in the back of the foyer.

She heard steps coming down the stone stairs to her basement.

_Please, let it be Sister, or Sakuya, or Patch, or anyone who can help me!_ She thought. _Anyone, actually, just don't let it be him!_

She strained her ears, using the vampire senses that were their trademark. Every sound she could hear was amplified, as if there were amplifiers planted in the walls that amplified every sound in the basement.

The heavy footfalls continued, together with the soft beating of fairy wings. The footfalls continued, coming ever closer to her door. Normally, the footfalls would sound like the clacking of normal steps, or the leathery sound of shoes on stone.

But to her those footfalls were like huge bass drums, heralding the monster of the Apocalypse.

Bang.

_No, please don't come any closer… no, please don't let it be you._

Bang. The sound was closer this time, and it was definitely next to the wall that her little room was behind.

_I don't want you to see me like this, don't you understand!? Go away!_

Bang. The sound came even closer. Everything that wasn't the steps seemed to be silenced, instead the steps being like little explosions on their own, each one shaking her heart more than the last. Holding on to some dim hope that it was not the man she wished to hide from, she continued to wish.

_No… don't come… She said to herself. Please, you can wait until the next full moon, right? You can wait until I'm ready to meet you, can't you? You can just live nicely, happily, and normally with my sister until I'm ready to come out, right?_

_Because you're just my friend._

_Because you don't really need me, do you?_

_Because I'm just the mysterious girl you met._

_So it should be fine if you don't come._

Bang. The sound finally stopped. She noticed that the last one had come from right in front of her door.

She sucked in a breath and hoped desperately that it wouldn't be him.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up, but I thought it would be nice to spend some time together."

Her eyes flowed freely with tears. At first she was deadly afraid, worrying that the tears would be the running water that killed her. This only lasted a moment, however, before she realized that the tears would not hurt her, and it was a good thing they didn't, as they began to roll freely down her cheeks.

"Hey, come on, there's a limit to how much someone can sleep, you know?"

Already Levant had begun to worry that not all was as it seemed, as the girl who was always cheerful and happy and not responded immediately, possibly calling him out for being so mean, or for being late in asking.

"Come on out, breakfast is ready." He said, addressing the door. A high note of worry and hope crept into his voice, but it was still recognizable as his normal, smiling voice.

Mostly.

He waited at the door again before the response came.

"G…Get away from me!" With a bit of hesitation, the girl flatly rejected him.

That one line was all that he needed to hear. He suddenly went into a frenzy, his voice skyrocketing from his normal voice to outright pleading.

Why that happened he himself could not have told you, but even the fairy maid, with fairies being known for being somewhat dull (and for good reason!), could have told you exactly why. Too bad she left to help prepare breakfast.

I'm sure even Cirno would have figured out why Levant's voice had shot up, and she would have told you exactly why Levant's voice skyrocketed in intensity, and then told you that she was "da strongest". But again I digress…

"What's wrong, Flandre? Are you sick? Should I call someone?" His voice was already up

"Get away!" The flatness in her voice evaporated, turning into an angry determination that was slightly deep and softer than the first, but all the more effective because of it.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He asked again, yelling this time.

"I'm fine. Just go away!" The angry voice was the same.

"But you'll miss breakfast!" His throat began to feel like it had begun to tear, ripping against his neck like an overextended string breaking.

"They'll bring it down if I ask, so go away!" The angry voice was giving way now, and her refusal sounded more like a scream than anything else.

"Then what am I even supposed to do here!?" He persisted, even as every scream ripped his throat apart. As if to emphasize his point, he struck the wooden door at the end of his scream, sending the resounding crash of fist on wood throughout the mansion.

Maybe he was forcing it, acting in the hopes that she was just having a bad day and would quickly come out.

But if he was just acting, why was his face so red?

Why did he allow himself to be pushed over the edge, screaming until his throat screamed back, sending its horrifying pain through the nerve endings in the neck?

Why would such a gentle and friendly person ever strike a door hard enough to make the sound echo?

"Just get away from me!" She screamed.

And when the high-pitched scream from the inside reached his ears, why did he pound on the door, staring at it between the strands of his hair, which had fallen in front of his face? Why was that hair wet with sweat, to the point that it looked like he had dipped his head in a pool?

"Why?" He whispered to himself.

"Please… just go away." The voice was small and pleading this time. "I'll come out to play some other day, just… not today."

"Why!?" Levant screamed, smashing his hand against the door again. The hand was red, and some blood was already leaking out of his middle finger. "Why not!?" His voice reverberated throughout the whole mansion, waking any of the fairy maids who had the temerity to sleep in or sleep on the job.

And then there was silence.

A cold, dark, and total silence.


	7. The Gap Between the Lovers' Hearts

Imagine fighting with your friend. Naturally, you'd give them the cold shoulder, and you wouldn't talk for days until some opportunity, or just plain getting sick of fighting because you're friends, would have you make up. Either that or you have a semi-permanent to fully permanent split because of it. If your specific quarrel falls into the second category, then you could easily imagine what happened in that mansion.

The door spared the two some of the pain, being a physical object that prevented either party from seeing the other directly.

But with the stares they directed through it, it might as well not have been there.

Who knows how long the silence lasted? Five minutes? Five hours? Five days? Time had no meaning, both of their attentions caught up only in the door.

For the girl the door was an object that helped keep him away, to stop his mere presence from causing in her a different kind of insanity.

For the boy the door was an obstacle, something that prevented him from reaching out to the girl he cared about.

She stared at the door through watery eyes.

He leaned against it with the front of his body, wondering why.

Neither broke the silence, until finally, the boy said his piece.

"What's wrong?" He asked, in a soft, quavering voice. "Tell me what's wrong." He pleaded, pushing his face to the door. "I want to know."

The girl's eyes watered as she stood up, head down as if still crushed under the weight of her memories.

That was odd. She should have stayed on the ground. That was what her brain was telling her, to just stay on the ground and let him go away, anything just to get back her silence for the day.

But it was as if her motor neurons, obeying some kind of impulse that didn't come from her own mind or consciousness, rather from the red mist that had been crawling into her reasoning for some time now.

The last though she had before she was fully engulfed in the red mist was that she was well and truly insane. Her throat rumbled with a sound she didn't even know she could make, a low growl like an engine, somehow making audible words that could be heard even from the other side of the door.

"So you want to know, do you?" She asked, her voice shaking. The words could barely be considered anything more than disconnected syllables. The boy watched on in horror, staring at the door that separated them.

"Alright then." She said, spitting out the words. "I'll let you know." On the other end of the door, almost possessed by rage, she took a deep breath. The boy could hear her little lungs sucking in breath on the other side of the door. Even though he couldn't see her, he could sense the trembling in her breath as she took it.

"Tell me, do you know what it's like to live as an outcast from the very beginning?" She asked him, in a perfectly calm and casual tone, as if they were discussing dinner. "Do you know how it is to do have a gift you can't control become a curse you can't erase?" She asked again, the intensity of her voice rising another step. "And do you know how long a time is four hundred and ninety-five years!?"

She had screamed this last statement at the door, and unknowingly she had made the boy retreat to the wall. She returned to the same tremulous calm she had had at the beginning.

However, she was not the only one taking action. Levant stood up, and immediately, his brain recognized that the only thing that needed doing right now was the immediate destruction of the door that separated him from his friend. His mind was already working furiously, attempting to calculate how many times he would have to slam his shoulder against the door for it to break down.

"Even when I was a child, I wasn't normal." She said. "I was too different; the gift of the vampire given to me was far too strong. Normally, it's something that doesn't kill someone immediately, like Sister's Manipulation of Fate, or something ordinary like duplication, or super strength." She said, and her voice took on a far more adult quality befitting her image at the lake. She was looking up at the ceiling now, in wistful reminiscence. "I had none of them. Usually, the later a gift manifests, the more destructive it is."

"Things would have been fine then, actually. Even if I was ridiculously strong, my parents were still there and they would have kept us safe. I would have grown up nice and happy." She said, then stopped, taking a breath and facing the door again. "Well so much for that." She said, regaining some of her composure, and the steel in her voice returned.

"Family feast." She said, practically choking herself with the intensity of the emotions she held back. "The high point of the celebration, the family dinner. We were all there, in that great hall, even myself in the white dress they had spent months getting ready." The tears flowed as she raised her head towards the door, but her voice was calm and emotionless as it continued, rushing through the words it didn't want to remember.

The boy prepared his shoulder. He couldn't take it any longer. He stepped back thrice, preparing to break down the door with his shoulder. Preparing to charge, he lowered his head and prepared for the impact, thinking of the possible effect on his shoulder.

Then the girl's declarations topped him dead in his tracks.

"They killed everyone." She said, in the innocent voice of a child that didn't want what happened. It was the same voice someone would use to talk about a dead relative, or a precious toy that had broken down completely. It was a simple declaration, but the images flashed by again, throwing her back to the days they were set in.

As she talked on about the hunters who had burst in through the windows and doors, she could have sworn she heard the explosions and the whining sound of a magical attack being released. The blue spears rushed past her line of vision as the scene repeated itself on the ceiling before her, the blue spears and the bodies of the black-clad priests rushing in through the windows.

As she stared up at the ceiling and talked about how they burst in she saw the glass fall from the windows that she remembered, the attacks mercilessly coming in to draw the blood of the bloodsuckers. She stood there, stunned, as the events of that day replayed before her and as her mouth moved mechanically, almost of its own free will, like a prayer or a chant that wished to deny the events of which it spoke.

Levant was absolutely enchanted by the story. He could only stare at the door and wonder how such a girl could have interacted with him so normally.

_How she had laughed, how she had cried, how she had pouted and smiled, how could such innocent days have such origins?_ He asked himself that question as he listened to her tale, enraptured by the simple yet full words that came out of her mouth and through the door. _Where did she get the strength to stand strong like that, to shrug off such things as if they never happened?_

He knew that he himself would never have that resilience, and he felt a gap open up between them.

It had its roots in a simple conviction he had. It was simply that some people are better than others, and that that was an undeniable fact.

He had seen people do things he considered undoable, easily executing things that would have taken him days to do. Not only in school, but also in the artists' forums online, he was always slower, always less proficient, always not good enough.

In fact the perfect anecdote exists for this, and that is something I shall relate to you right here.

Levant, being a budding artist, posted a number of his own works online. He himself wasn't entirely confident in his work, but he entered with the utmost conviction that he would be at least decent, or fine as far as original art went. He knew that there were the truly great artists out there, those who could sit down at their computers in the morning and have a hi-def wallpaper with great color shading, perfectly clean lines, and all in their signature style by the end of the night, but he wasn't that kind of person. And besides, he was new, so they would understand, wouldn't they?

His drawings themselves had the quality of an amateur artist who certainly held a gift. Although he had a… predilection towards drawing younger girls in scanty clothing or cute puffy dresses, a fandom called "loli", his fundamentals were actually quite strong, having a good grasp of perspective and of the way hair works. Most of his art had completely original subjects, people of his own design and worked in such a way that only he could have possibly drawn them. If there was one thing going for him, it was his signature style.

His signature style that was burned at the stake by the online community. To put it in words would be to say "Idealism". It was a style that removed all that Levant deemed imperfect, in effect making him a god deciding the appearance of his subjects. Of them all, the first of his subjects was trumpeted out arrayed as such.

A young girl of about ten, legs like sticks and of a short height. Her silver hair, hanging from the back of her head and spreading over her back, pulled back to reveal her clear blue eyes and her blushing face.

I'm quite sure the fact that she had no clothes on but a tank top and a short skirt, having taken off the rest of her clothing before that, as well as the fact that her eyebrows were bent into an expression, half of anticipation and the other of nervousness, was already quite indicative of Levant's preferences.

It was this idealized version of the woman that Levant had first placed on the internet, as he went to sleep.

He woke up the next day, a perfect weekend. He booted up the computer, easily and cheerfully checking his digital desk. Reading through the comments on his work, he smiled as he browsed the "this is good work" and "It's beautiful"'s. There were a number of more descriptive ones, like "Beautifully cute and a bit sexy" or the odd speculation about what she would wear.

Then he saw the one comment that would stop him completely.

_"Honestly, it's just another fish in the sea. I could go on the search pages and find thousands of pictures just like this or better. Don't prance around like you're someone special when there are people who've given far more than you ever could to do this."_

That was all it said. But that was enough to cripple the boy. He wouldn't eat, he couldn't think, and he spent the entire day at school spent in what could best be described as a waking nightmare. He moved as a corpse; as a zombie would. There was no feeling to him. Anything he did during the two weeks he stayed totally depressed was a blur, with the exception of his studies. With nothing he believed was worth putting himself into, he poured himself into his studies, and he did well, immediately absorbing the knowledge given to him.

After those weeks, however, he began to take up the pencil again, deciding to deny the comment through his own expertise and ability. But the comment never stopped stinging, and as if his body responded to it and knew it to be true, he stopped improving. It was as if he had levelled off, reaching a plateau from which he would never come up. And until he had met the girl he had not made a single step forward.

He looked up at the door again, and this time it looked like no matter how hard he struck it would not open.

The moments before entering enemy territory are always the tensest. Coming up on the edge of the trees that surrounded the Scarlet Devil Mansion, Leopold von Rosenkreuzstillete was made very aware of that fact of special operations.

He ran his fingers back over the Desert Eagle .50 pistol he kept in a holster on the back of his hip. It was an odd thing for a Special Operations soldier to carry around, being both big and unwieldy in a profession that relied on speed and surprise. It was nigh-impossible and totally impractical to silence, as well as having such large ammunition that Leopold could only carry a single magazine in addition to his standard equipment. Nevertheless, the hand cannon was his constant companion on every operation he had ever been on, enough to have it be called the "Leopold III", a reference to the large and impractical Leopold train artillery of the Second World War.

But to him it was no burden, and there was nothing odd about it at all. The story of the Leopold III was a very simple one.

He had been wet behind the ears, of the same rank as one of the operatives that he was leading right now. They had the simple mission of taking out a small terrorist cell that had managed to infiltrate at the Berlin airport. The terrorists weren't affiliated with any large name in the business, they were probably more of those unfortunate young Muslims who are taught out of context or miseducated into believing that jihad is the only way. They had been caught by the spy network, however, the air marshals on the plane were not confident that they could take the terrorists, leading them to call in GSG9. Along with six men, Leopold and his cousin, Henrik, had been assigned to the team, bringing them to a total of eight.

There was no "Cousin Henrik" here, as cousins in the family usually addressed one another, but instead the two were so close they referred to each other with just their first names, as a pair of brothers would. Both of them looked forward to this mission, as it was the first time since they had entered GSG9 that they had the opportunity to work together.

He smiled bitterly beneath his black assault mask. _Looking forward to it my ass._

Yes, indeed, he seemed so foolish in hindsight, being able to look forward to a mission where his cousin, no, his brother had been killed without even a single form of glory to his name.

It had been simple. They had been undercover in plainsclothes, walking down the corridor to make sure the terrorists didn't escape. At the predetermined moment, two of their colleagues, posing as airport security, would take them in and question them, and if they failed to come quietly, there were the others, who were all using pistols in order to avoid civilian casualties.

What had happened was actually far different for two simple and stupid reasons.

The first reason was that the terrorists were trained in hand-to-hand combat, something that the GSG9 did not know and take into account in their planning.

The second reason was that the strategy was flawed, something which would be explained in multiple pages of report later on, detailing precisely why conducting special operations in the middle of a crowd of civilians is a stupid idea. In attempting to avoid hype, they had ended up actually generating more of it.

It was quick. The "airport marshals", instead of finding a panicked group who would easily surrender, were confronted with two men grabbing them. For some reason, one of the marshals had had his knife on the outer edge of his pants, which was quickly taken by one of the terrorists. They threw the two "marshals" into the crowd and attempted to run by turning back the way they came, more throwing themselves forward with their legs than springing off of the ground with them.

Right in their path were Leopold and Henrik. Without hesitation they pulled their pistols and were already in firing position, and not a moment too soon. One of them was already in front of Henrik, while the other was trying to bolt past them. The only reason that they had not shot yet was that they were conscious of the civilians around them, and only when the one charging Henrik was close did they fire.

Three shots, center mass from Leopold's gun, followed by two from Henrik. A burst that would have killed any man, and they did so to this one.

But, as if it was his dying will, the soul of a martyr possessed the corpse and it continued to charge his brother.

Time stopped. Leopold saw it in slow motion. The knife, falling through the air, in a menacing arc traced by the now-dead brain full of fanaticism.

His brother, making every attempt to avoid the point of the knife, although to any observer they knew what too late looked like.

_"Hey, Leopold, I gotta ask you something."_

_"Yeah, what is it?" He asked, turning back towards the cousin he called a brother._

_"Whatever happens, you've got my back and I've got yours."_

And when the knife was planted through the helmet and into the head with a sickening thud, the strings of hope were cut just as definitively as the strings of life. As the wound was inflicted going downwards, and because of the helmet which blocked the way, the squirting of blood was minimal.

Leopold did not take the time to see the details of the stab, as he had turned around immediately after he was sure the knife would fall on his brother. _Nothing I can do for him now. Focus on the mission._

With one hand he held out his pistol, lining up his target with machine-like precision. Without any hesitation he pulled the trigger, resulting in a perfect shot to the head. The second terrorist's head was subjected to the very uncomfortable condition of being shot through, spreading brains and blood like so much chunky salsa.

But Leopold continued to say nothing. His voice was absolutely calm as he continued to give orders, directions, and responses to his now-arriving teammates.

His tears spoke volumes more than any words, or any sort of screaming.

_This… this is the burden of RosenKreuzStillete._

Later, it would be suggested in the combat report that a larger pistol be issued, in order to allow for more knocking back of the enemy and prevent a similar tragedy. Although it was eventually rejected, Leopold requested a Desert Eagle, and although it was technically not within the rules, his commanding officer, Hauptmann Steiner Wrede, had allowed him to carry it, along with one spare magazine of ammunition. He had ordered it specifically in perfect shining black, as if when he looked into the gleam of the gun he would remember his remorse.

It was this gun he now brushed with his right hand, looking up at the treetops.

He closed his eyes, a single tear falling to just above his cheek. Around him were the men he was taking on the attack. Some of them had taken off their tactical gloves, because they would be firing the blue spears that were the von Rosenkreuzstillete trademark attack. Others were preparing to rush in with him, firing bullets aplenty from their submachine guns.

"Nobody dies." He told himself. "Everyone goes home today."

He wiped off the tear with the back of his hand and looked down the sight of the gun. Through it, he saw a tall, red-haired woman as he had seen when he had gone to Britain.

However to say that anyone wore a cheongsam in Britain, much less a green one with a golden dragon pattern and a slit that went up all the way to the hip, was a huge stretch of the imagination. Nevertheless, he lined her up in the sights.

"Commence operation… now."

The blue spears were let loose, and a hail of bullets assaulted the girl at the gate. They knew that she was a youkai, and that bullets would only hurt and wound, not put them down permanently.

Still, a hundred tiny pieces of lead shot from ten different directions moving faster than the human eye can see tends to have a nasty effect on anything solid, youkai included.

The roar of gunfire combined with the combined magical shock from the simultaneous creation and release of thirty spears of blue energy, signalled that the morning drama had just begun.


	8. The First Scarlet Siege

"Go, go, go! In through the front!" Leopold yelled, one of his contingent firing an RPG to blow the front door in. "You all know your positions, now move it on!" He yelled, and they cheered as they rushed the mansion.

They would be finishing the job their ancestors had sworn to complete. It was that knowledge that allowed them to surge forward without fear or hesitation, with only thoughts of victory on their minds.

The youkai in the library heard the explosive attacks. With a face of irritation she put down the book she was holding. The demons that were her librarians had already appeared at her side.

"Let's start the casting. Light the candles at the ends of the library." She said. All of the demons moved with a purpose, already knowing their assigned positions. The purple-clad magus began to float in the middle, taking a view of the library where she spent years at a time, never leaving the four walls of her hall of knowledge. She looked down at the black-and-white tiles on the floor.

Unknown to all but herself, the patterns of black and white on the floor formed a gigantic magical focusing array. She was rather proud of this pattern, having built it from experimentation and fact-finding rather than having merely read it, and having made it herself it was quite an achievement. She planned to record this in a grimoire of her own when she felt her as-of-yet long youkai life come to a slow end, but that was for the far, far future.

_Those two other magicians might not be up to snuff, but they were definitely helpful in building this thing._

Soon after the invasion of the mansion by the red shrine maiden and the black-and-white magician, the second of them had returned with a friend; a doll master who was a magician in her own right. After a bit of icebreaking and chastising the kleptomaniac among them, they had sat down for tea in the middle of the library, at the table the girl herself was floating over.

"I was just wondering, though, if you have a proper security system here." The doll master had asked. "You and the other residents are pretty powerful on your own, but the help don't seem to be a very good fighting force."

"Yeah, when I came here I blasted through them like a madwoman!" Hat off because she had just thrown it, the black-white witch fired a bolt in the air, sending her hat rapidly flipping before it landed, right side up, on her head again. "You'll need more security if ever anything like this happens."

Her pride offended, the purple librarian had said "Then you two think of something."

"Well if it's defensive, you can use bigger versions of Alice's dolls." The witch told the librarian. "But you'd need a circle big enough to link to all of them and give them commands."

"Plus you'd need to command them." The doll master replied. "And if you're thinking a lot of dolls then you're going to be needing a very big focusing array, and there's no magical equivalent for that…"

Her voice trailed off as the lights went on in all of their eyes. That passion that drove them to be magicians; the passion of discovering new things and perfecting their craft, it was that passion that they saw in each other's eyes at that moment.

In the next two weeks the other two magicians practically lived at the mansion as they designed the ritual circle. There was the bare minimum of sleeping and eating done, most of it by the still-human one. However, this was not to detract from the burning fervor they all felt in designing the ritual, directing the energy to become strings of control that reached out from the head of the ritual-user herself. They had to be careful not to overload the user while allowing them to control a huge number of would-be puppets. Multiple revisions were made, and more than once the plan was totally scrapped and redesigned.

Once it was completed, they watched the fairy maids, under the librarian's direction, replace the tiles with the ones that they had prepared. They were very careful with every tile and its placement. The reason was obvious to anyone who had seen the plan.

Faintly engraved into each of them was a small part of the great circle, with the torches on the walls serving as the perimeter of the circle. This was the "control" half of the great circle. At the end of that day they feasted and slept, preparing themselves for the next phase of the plan.

This next phase was building a small army of dolls their own size, each one of them was sculpted in the shape of one of the three magicians. Although this was partly due to vanity and a desire to show off their skills, there was also the practical reason that their powers were the easiest to create from raw magical energy, and so the sigil engraved on the back of each doll that powered it would not have to be complicated.

With their work complete they had run a test run and the dolls had moved perfectly, firing attacks very similar to the real thing. They weren't yet as fast or as deadly, but with more power from the great circle they could be. Finally, and this process only took a few hours as this was already a common spell, with the only thing making it so long was the number of times they had to repeat it. Simply put, the magicians inserted a mote of their own power into the dolls that represented them, to allow them to think and fight as the originals did.

The three of them had toasted that night, two months after that tea party. They had written down the spell and it was enough to fill half a grimoire on its own, with the other half coming from the future original spells the three of them would make. And they would try to do that before the human one's lifespan had ended, assuming she had no plans of going youkai.

Now it was going to get its first test run. The candles at the ends of the library lit up, and the librarian closed her eyes, turning her head up to the sky.

She would not be needing to see or to hear for quite a while.

The little vampire in the reading room immediately heard the explosion. She already knew what it meant. The smell of blue magic was in the air.

Their pursuers had finally found them. Their destiny of battle was pounding at the gates.

"Sakuya." She ordered the air. As if appearing from the air itself, her loyal blue maid was already there.

Her right hand held her pocket watch, while her left hand had three knives in the gaps between the fingers, with the exception of the one between the pointer and the thumb. She went down on one knee as her mistress continued to speak.

"Patchy's army will take some time to pull out. The fairy maids are near-useless, but they should be good enough as a distraction. I want you to take the visitor and return here to the safe area. After that, keep me informed. I give you full permission to join the fight but I'd much rather you didn't." She said.

"I am not only maid but also your guard. If you would ask me not to fight it would be against my duty." The silver-haired maid said. "That was my main qualification." She said, brandishing the set of knives in her right hand. Her master waved her off, continuing on her speech.

"Knowing them, they will have a countermeasure ready for your strengths with time and space, and if you try it they'll have a nasty surprise for you." The little vampire said. "I want you to move around and keep me informed while I get ready to command Patchy's troops. In the meantime, though…" She said as she raised the red spear.

"Let's see if I still have the stones for this." She said derisively as she plunged her spear into the floor.

In a second the room was full of the red mist that blocked out the sun.

"It is time for the lady to defend her castle." She said. She was already invisible in the red mist as the attack continued. "Come then, fools."

Staring at the door, the boy was rudely interrupted by the sound of explosions that burst against the walls and the structure of the Scarlet Devil Mansion. Shock and awe was in full effect as he heard the screams of fairy maids, interspersed with small cracks of gunfire and the occasional large magical explosion that saw a blue spear hit its mark, be it wall or fairy maid.

But what worried him the most were the sounds from behind the door. The girl's voice was completely different now.

It was completely different from the laughing, smiling voice she used when they had been talking, the categorical opposite of the playful voice that she used to talk to him when she was pouting, and the closest thing he could think of, but still very far off, was her soft pleading tone, which was always laced with a velvet string of playfulness. This voice, however was far different.

Instead of pleading for a few more minutes, or pleading for a piece of candy, it sounded like she was pleading for her life.

More correctly, she was pleading for her sanity.

"I can smell them… they're here, aren't they?" Her voice was small but clear, like the whining of a child, tainted with just a hint of nerves that quickly grew to subsume the rest of her voice. "That magic… those sounds… they're here to finish the job." She said, her words beginning to run into each other as she began to enter what might be called "raving lunatic" mode.

"I have to go, I have to go… where are you Mama we have to go! Come on! Let's get out of here, Mama! Remi, don't stay over there, come on, let's go! Steiner, Winston, Raphael, Cosimo, let's go!" She rushed to the sofa and knelt on the seat. Her eyes darted back and forth as if looking for something, but only meeting pain. Her eyes moved back and forth in disbelief, her small body trembling under her red dress, the crystals of her wings shaking as her head whipped back and forth, as if to take in what was happening around her. "No, no, no no no, why is this happening, why is this happening!?" She wailed, as if seeing the exact thing that she wished to deny.

The sound coming from behind the door was indescribable. It was like a wild animal was being slowly tortured, like a lion that had been burned over and over again throughout its life had been approached by a mob with torches and killing intent, the pain of an experience of suffering seared into the memory. Her body, barely even moving under her own control with the strength of her emotion, was now completely stunned in her inability to see past the visions that were not there. Levant stared at all this through the door that was made out of wood. Normally, he would not be able to see it, rendering the entire last sentence absolutely incorrect.

But a capricious maiden had decided to make the wooden door absolutely see-through, so Levant was indeed staring at the little girl's plight. And at that moment he had understood.

The pain that this girl had endured throughout her entire life, which he knew was definitely far, far longer than his own.

The way she had borne that pain, the outward strength she had as she took it all on and maintained her childhood. However, there was also a much darker side to that.

The insanity that was the result of the horrible experience. The ailment that Levant expected was the thing that kept her in the basement for so long, and for some reason because of this she could only come out and play by the light of the moon.

And now, he was witnessing the insanity he had never been allowed to see, the one beneath it all, the little girl who had been hurt so badly. Normally, he guessed, her rage would have broken and she would have started destroying things, possibly even breaking all of the wonderfully-crafted and expensive furniture. Today, however, he didn't know why, but something was holding her back from the edge, something prevented her pure anger and rage from surging forward, instead replacing it with a reminiscent melancholy as she wailed for what Levant could only think of as something near and dear to her. And then he realized that there was so much he didn't know about her, so much he had yet to see, and that the gap between them was larger than ever.

But he also felt absolutely no distance. Surprisingly, even with the huge gap in years and experiences, he felt absolutely no aversion, in fact he wanted to reach out and hug the girl, tell her it was all right.

Because even if his own suffering had not even been in the same order of magnitude, with a scale difference that made it completely impossible to compare, he still knew that anyone in pain wanted to be comforted. From his own bitter personal experience, he knew that it was horrible to be alone in suffering.

He walked forward, fully aware but completely apathetic to the door that stood in his way. He pulled back, ready to tackle down the door.

He said nothing as he surged forward, shoulder out and ready to break down the locked door. Its hinges were weakened by his previous attacks, but he didn't expect it to break down.

"Agh!" He crashed against the hard oak, feeling the pain spike through his shoulder and into the rest of his body. He let his right shoulder slump but set up again, ready to use his left shoulder this time to pound against the wall.

_Make no mistake, even if you hate me, even if you don't want me, I know you need this. Hold still, Flandre, and just wait for me. _He thought as he backed up for the second tackle. _Just hold on._

The girl's renewed wailing was like his signal to strike, like a foreman who called upon his workers to beat their hammers in time.

Leopold led a squad of five straight through the interior of the mansion. According to the records on the vampires, they had a time and space manipulator with them. With their special forces mentality and their knowledge of magic they had not only found a way to keep themselves at the standard definition of space and time, but had also prepared a very, very nasty countermeasure for anyone who tried to disrupt it, an equal disruption of a highly lethal type. So far, they had only met scattered resistance from the maids. They were fairies, hired mostly to cook and clean as well as to move things, but not to actually fight. Dispatching them was easier than easy, and Leopold was beginning to wonder if such a large force was actually required to finish this mission. They were coming up on a four-way intersection that seemed to be an inner hall for the house. He knew the floor plan called for him to go left, but just before he turned the corner he stopped.

Instead he turned right and came face to face with a person with wild blonde hair, a witch hat, and a small and very deadly-looking box in her hand, pointed straight at him.

_Just when I thought this would be easy…_

He felt more than saw the three missiles of light and as he felt, blazing heat, fly straight for him. Without batting an eyelash he reflexively ducked, and his squad moved creatively to take firing positions. One of them slid on the floor as he crossed the intersection to the other side, firing at the enemy in front of them as the other three waited in the corridor, ready to react to any other attacks made. Leopold watched his squadmate's bullets strike the enemy and quickly took in what he saw.

Clay and dust blasting out of the head, turning it into a huge cloud of dust and fragments. He turned around, and what should he see besides the exact same person, flanked by a purple-haired girl with pink clothes and another blonde, but one who kept her own hair far neater with a headband. His gun was already up, though, and he blasted through them like they were nothing. Already though, he could see the next wave replacing them preparing what would be a huge barrage of magical attacks, and so he gave the order.

"Pull back to the foyer, we'll get an advantage there! We can't get them in this narrow corridor!" The three who had stayed behind went into action, throwing grenades in the direction of the enemy and firing a good burst before their bombs exploded, allowing Leopold and the other man to make an escape and run back down the way they came, followed by the other two. Hundreds of tiny magic bullets consumed the corridor behind them, and already the human-sized puppets were following them through their own attack.

"Be advised, the enemy has magic-using golems. They are confirmed to be rational and think on their own; pull back to the foyer so we can take them down!" He relayed his instructions in a tense voice that conveyed the urgency of the situation. "Repeat, all squads return to the main hall now." He said calmly into the radio.

_Looks like we really might have needed more than just fifty._ He thought as he ran back. On his way he came up against another four-way intersection, and he gestured with his left hand. Two of his men peeled off to the left to prepare an ambush for the dolls. He himself took up a position in the foyer, where still no dolls had gathered. He rounded the corner and turned back on the corridor he had come from.

"Dieter, you have the SAW, yes?" He asked, panting a little from the exercise.

"Yes, sir." He said.

"Show them just how good your aim is." He told his junior. The boy's flippant attitude had definitely rubbed off on him.

"They won't be alive long enough to notice." Dieter smiled, hefting the SAW affectionately. "Go to hell, you damned dolls." As if they heard him, they launched their own magical attacks, consisting of missiles, bursts, and balls of pure, weak yet still-lethal magical energy.

The gun's report was a deafening roar was a deafening series of explosions that drowned out the magic casting and the arias. Although he had managed to send the dolls scurrying for cover behind the walls, they had gotten off quite the magical attack before he had managed to blow out some of their heads.

He merely stood there and blasted the magic with his gun, only this time it shot the blue spears of purifying fire that so distinguished the Rosenkreuzstillete from any other. The spears immediately negated the magic, striking home on the unsuspecting constructs.

"It's actually just a peashooter, boss." He said, directing it at Leopold. "These are just cannon fodder."

"Yes, but they learn quick for cannon fodder." Leopold replied as one of them began to fire into the corridor. The attack was a stream, clearly just randomly shot to keep their heads down.

Leopold, however, was not fooled, and he pulled out his pistol and shot the doll once in the chest, causing it to crack like a dinner plate that's been dropped and explode into fragments of ceramic. "Try again next time." He said as it exploded, its allies pulling the doll out to replace it with another. Reloading his gun, he took the time to issue more complete orders.

"Once you get down into the foyer, hold your own corridor." He said. "Make sure they don't get in, the foyer is only here to make sure that they come in when we want them to."

He suddenly realized something and ran up to the front door. The great oaken doors were polished and carved exquisitely, resting between two giant support pillars. It was a great door, however, it would only need more men than they had to man it, them already being stretched as it was among the many entrances into the foyer. Along with the entrance, it would have to go.

He summoned two blue spears of magic and used them to knock down the pillars in front of the door. At least that was the plan.

But the team that had been sent through the entrance hall must not have done very well, as the doll army began to charge through. Wave after wave of the false magi burst forward as if there was no end. They surged like a wave, charging in from ever direction.

"Son of a bitch, this is what happens when you don't have enough intelligence!" Leopold said, holstering his guns. "Enough of this modern shit!" He yelled for all of his men to hear as he drew his ice-blue sword, a replica of the legendary Clarent. "Our ancestors started it; let's finish it with their weapons!"

A cheer went up, as if the entire assembly had been waiting for this. Each one pulled out weapons, bows and arrows, spears, swords, shields, and other medieval weapons of every variety, and every one of them, to a man, rose up into the air to meet the rising tide of magicians.

The legendary clan Rosenkreuzstillete, practitioners of both the arts of war as well as the arts of magic, had returned to the battlefield. And motivated and ready to fight as they were now, the doll army that was almost ten times the size of the force seemed as nothing to them as they rushed like an unstoppable wave.

All of them were grouped together now, with only one destination in mind.

The stairs behind the first door in the entrance hall.

The safe haven and the home of the vampire at the very heart of the mansion, Remilia Scarlet.

"Onward, men, for today, we break the bounds of humanity!" Leopold yelled into the sky as he rushed through the army, cutting down dolls as the men protected him and his squad. "Protect us as we fly forth to deliver victory!"

That order was quite unnecessary, though. They had already blasted away the dolls rushing at their leader.

The voice of the capricious maiden rang out, but only in her own head, in her own zone, somewhere far removed from the crisis at hand.

_Quite a spectacular promise there, boy. Let's see if you can live up to it._ She flicked a finger and smiled, waiting for the response.

Levant's second tackle with the left shoulder was actually a lot stronger than the first. Although he was pained, he was no longer afraid of it, in fact wondering if in breaking down the door, _"that's all its gonna take, just multiplied a few times." _The second tackle was far better done than the first, with more force being applied to push the door rather than to just crash against it. However, with his lack of muscle mass used to propel the body forward, the reality was that it was impossible for him to break down the door. After all, if it was possible, the little vampire who was far stronger than he could ever be would have broken out already. He pushed off from the ground, bracing his shoulder for impact. He had some sense that he would not be able to break the door down, but he did not care.

And then as if to vindicate his optimism, the door gave way, falling over in the face of the boy's furious if ineffectual charge.

It was something that should not have happened.

But it did.

Even the boy had expected his charge to fail, despite the fact that he would never admit it. Underneath his optimism he was still a Rosenkreuzstillete, and their ability to quickly and accurately judge the situation in battle was and still is their defining trait.

But for the sake of that one girl, he decided to throw away everything he had been up to that point. He didn't care about that, as long as he could believe in what he did.

That was what broke down that door for him.

The battle-scarred warrior saw his comrades attack through the front. Having used his magical power to float over the water and arrive at the back of the great red mansion. He effortlessly flew over the walls, arriving at the back of the mansion and punching out a window. He contemplated the window for a moment, thinking of where this would be in the mansion's overall floor plan.

To himself he had assigned the cruellest mission of all, and the one of which only he was capable. He knew of the monster that had effortlessly destroyed his ancestors with the closing of her hand.

And he knew that he was the only one capable of destroying a monster such as that.

He proceeded into the window, turning left. His partner, the Beretta M92F with six rounds, was already in his hands.

_I will need no more than a single bullet. _He thought. _To use any more would be frivolous._

The corridor would be long, but at the end of it he knew that the basement would be there. The lack of any sort of defense was a welcome but disconcerting surprise, and as such he was even more on-guard than normal.

He advanced slowly down the corridor, ready to shoot at a moment's notice.


	9. Bullet Time

_The lyrics of "Heavens Divide" from the official soundtrack of Metal Gear Solid 4, sung by Donna Burke, have been used without permission. I apologize profusely for this, but as my friend may soon leave for China, I want this chapter to be as good as I can possibly make it. Video here for your appreciation: watch?v=7lTOnPc9h-c_

Leopold and his entire team looked around in shock, as the dolls went absolutely stiff, standing completely straight where they were before lazily floating away, like the little insects in a sci-fi movie with alien hive mind bugs returning to the hive.

To say the very least, it was unsettling. However the men did not allow this to give them pause as they set up a perimeter around the door as Leopold himself and his squad prepared to breach it. The commander himself put his ear to the door.

"Everybody got their side of the perimeter locked down?" He asked his men, who sang a chorus of "Yes, sir!", once for each of the three corridors leading to the door. He nodded.

"Then we're going in." He said. But as he was about to break in the door, he noticed a blood-red mist coming from behind the door at his eye level. The sudden change made him pull back, his survival instincts telling him that the red mist could only mean an extremely powerful opponent.

The door swung open, the hinges on either side of the double doors slowly allowing their master out into the corridor.

There she was, the small girl in pink, with hair as blue as the sky, and a crimson spear of doom in her right hand, which, if held vertically, would tower over her slight frame. Floating a foot above the ground, the bat wings on her back not even moving to keep her aloft, she held the spear with her right hand and put it parallel to the ground, taking a low stance, a stance that was brimming with power and bloodlust. Without even having to think, Leopold recognized the weapon, along with the wielder.

It was the legendary spear Gungnir. Though not as great as the one ascribed to in Norse legend, held by the one who knew all, it was still a fearsome item nonetheless. The wielder was the first primary target, the vampire Remilia Scarlet. Oldest remaining scion of the Scarlet house of vampires, she had been marked for extermination for about a thousand years.

The girl licked her lips as Leopold picked himself up and lifted his sword. The red mist, although not suffocating or blinding in any way, was still annoying, and against an opponent of such power, that simple disadvantage could end him.

But the Special Forces lived on disadvantage, and turning it into advantage.

"So, you decided to come face us head-on instead of letting us run over your minions." Leopold said. "You're quite honourable."

"It's simple etiquette between old enemies, something I'm glad your family hasn't forgotten." The vampire responded. "I haven't been shot in the back yet, so I'm assuming you want to keep it that way."

"Yes, our one flaw has always been martial pride." Leopold said, as he drew the weapon he had brought on his back especially for this purpose.

To oppose the crimson spike of legend that was before him, he had brought the silver lance that strikes at even the immortal.

"Recognize this, vampire?" He asked.

"The sword that stabbed the side of Christianity's 'God' himself." She replied, smiling slightly as she sunk lower into her killer, predatory stance. "You've done well to secure such an artefact, von Rosenkreuzstillete."

"Indeed, it was a pain to get." He said, lowering himself into his equivalent of the girl's stance, also rising some way into the air. Suddenly he sighed.

"I'd rather not be doing this, as you know. I'd much rather be back at base, hunting terrorists and spies like it said on the job description. But I guess that I've been driven just a little crazy by that uncle of mine." He looked over at the little girl holding the spear, who was already on the point of rushing him with it.

"I swear I'm starting to enjoy this!" He yelled, and as if that was the signal, both of them rushed forward to begin the attack. Both of them had decided to begin with a forward lunge, eschewing all defense in favour of being able to strike the first blow. "Your martial pride is nothing to be scoffed at!"

"It is a tradition maintained by the best of us." Leopold said, already devoid of emotion or hatred as he rushed towards glorious battle.

The battle between champions had begun.

He fumbled the kiss horribly.

He had pulled her into his arms, but perhaps because of his raw emotion or because he had miscalculated with regards to his own strength or her weight, he ended up falling over backwards, the girl's eyes wide open as he pulled her in. His head, both by reflex and the intent of the action, had curled down over hers as they fell backwards. Her eyes widened with surprise as he held her close to himself, letting her heat spread to him. He could feel the wetness on his shirt from her tears, and held her tighter, smiling as they fell.

He barely even felt the pain when they fell on the (admittedly carpeted) floor. He stayed there, embracing her. She did not resist.

Speaking of resistance, there was a lot of that between the two spear-wielders in the hall, surrounded by the special operatives, who shed their contemporary training of acting as pragmatic and effective killing machines. They had returned to the time of knights, the time when chivalry and valor lent glory to the killing fields, where the measure of a man was both their conduct and their mettle in war.

They stood in a ring, as a relic to the stadiums and coliseums of long ago, watching the combatants in the middle strike out at each other.

The girl with blue hair, in her slightly torn pink dress, holding a red spear that would put any man to shame with the ferocity of its shape, in one corner. Though she was slight, she possessed strength unmatchable, the red mist shutting out her weaknesses and refining her movements. Her body, though small and stick-like in some places, was actually a powerhouse that would strike through walls like rock while flowing around guards like water. Her wings, small, leathery, and bat-like, were waiting to be stretched and to dive into the attack. To top it all off, her blood-red eyes seemed to think only of their opponent, fixating on them as a target and a source of food.

If anyone or anything was worthy of the ominous name of "Remilia Scarlet", this girl would be it.

As for her opponent, the modern hero of war, Leopold von Rosenkreuzstillete, the rising star and the greatest of the "new guard" of GSG9, as well as the inheritor of the spear that pierced the side of a god, the Holy Longinus, was in no way lacking. Forcing all of his power through his veins, letting the rushing magic of war strengthen his limbs and his mind, he proved himself a match for the little powerhouse, and the silver spear banished the red mist the girl had wreathed herself in, preventing her from blinding him with it. He flew in a way unlike the girl, using his magical energy to directly change the flow of air around him, allowing him to turn in ways that could not even be imagined, overtly denying the laws of physics as if they were just words put to paper, not the results of so much study over thousands of years of human civilization.

Such was the strength of the beings that were clashing in the corridor of the Scarlet Devil Mansion.

The first strike was a test, both parties rushing forward at high speed with a spear swing they both knew would never connect. Metal met metal, and with a spark they flew in opposite directions, letting the momentum of their strike carry them into the turn, as both of them pivoted in their own way into the next attack.

What followed was literally a storm of blades, a contest of pure speed of the body and speed of the mind. The speeds of their bodies were tested in the strength and ferocity of their spear duel, the thrusts, swings, spins, and parries that they used to deflect their opponent's pole and send theirs on a collision course with their opponent, as well as their ability to engage and disengage from combat. Their speed was such that a storm of blades was formed, sending sparks from metal-on-metal contact flying throughout the hall, the friction raising the ambient heat a few degrees, not to mention the huge gusts of wind when they flew past one another.

The speed of the mind, however, was tested even more sorely, as the combatants had exited the "normal" progression of time and space.

Time appeared to move slower, as thirty seconds became the equivalent of thirty years. The stress placed on the mind as it had to make split-moment decisions on whether to parry or whether to dodge, on whether to thrust or whether to cut, and whether to disengage or to press the advantage, all these things had to be balanced in order to defeat the enemy. Even with this stress upon them, there were the issues of excessive heat from air friction and situational awareness, or, put simply, being aware enough of their surroundings not to crash into people or walls. If that wasn't enough, both of them had to continuously plan and connive ways to gain the upper hand, through even the smallest of differences in attacks, strategies, or approaches to fighting. Stacked on top of that was the little matter of the pain generated by the huge amounts of force placed on their wrists that tried their concentration, but that was just the cherry on the top of the whipped cream.

The fact that two fighters could even execute such a balancing act between mind and body, and that they could do it while making it look easy to their audience, was a testament to their strength and experience as warriors. Their audience struck speechless, they continued to create the storm of blades and the almost never-ending shower of sparks.

As one of the men who was there would say, "If the sparks weren't so red they would've looked like rain."

The floor was hard and uncompromising, even if the moment was not. Holding the girl he had sworn to himself to protect in his arms, the boy had no intention of letting go.

_Petals of white, _

They hit the floor, the boy's back taking all the impact.

_Cover fields flowing in grieving tears._

He returned his memories to the day when he had first seen her, by the lakeshore, looking as beautiful as the princess she was. Back then he had known nothing of her, nothing of her heritage or her reality.

But now he knew.

_And all the hearts, once new, old and shattered now._

He was tired, his body aching, his shoulder probably broken from bashing on the door, and his nerves were at their limit. With one more strain it would probably break into insanity for sure.

_Love can kill, love will die, give me wings to fly._

He honestly didn't know why he still wanted to protect the girl. He didn't want to have to deal with this, as he heard the explosions and the magical fire.

_Fleeing this world so cold I just wonder why._

But still he continued to hold her. As if to confirm that he was doing so, he held her tighter and felt her blood run within her.

_She's still alive._ He thought. _She's still here._

He gripped her tighter.

_Cold as the dark._

This had been the girl's life before she had met him. Hidden away and never allowed to meet anyone, she had always been, indeed, cold as the damp and dark basement that she had inhabited.

_Now my words are frosted with every breath._

As such she had almost forgotten what it was to talk, to speak. The first person she had spoken to since the attack on the mansion, Levant was the person who had broken the ice around her heart.

_Still the heat burns wild, roaming inside this heart._

Yet she knew that she could never have him; she was immortal and he was not, she was insane and he was sane, she was a vampire and he was a man, a vampire killer at that. But she dared to hope.

_When the wind changes course, when the stars align._

She hoped for a change, no, for a miracle that would allow them to be as one. Certainly it would take a miracle for them to be together.

_I will reach out to you and leave this all behind._

And when that miracle happened, she would reach out and take the boy, the boy who was closest to her, the one who was most precious to her.

The one who had melted the centuries-old ice around her heart.

_When heavens divide._

The one who had made her dream again. The person who was holding her right now, the person who brought her close to his heart and would never let her go.

She buried herself deeper in his chest.

He smiled as he realized she was still alive. And he could almost feel it through her clothes and her hug, that she was lucid.

_When heavens divide!_

Indescribable happiness. Bliss, at the continued existence of the one he wished to protect.

_I will see, the choices within my hands._

Along with it, the wish to protect that happiness, something he knew he would not be able to achieve.

_How can we ever protect and fight with our tiny souls?_

No matter what the cost to him. No matter the pain he had to endure.

_Let me shine, like the sun, through the doubts and fear._

He would save her.

_Do you feel the storm approach, as the end draws near?_

Even as she was struck at by the enemy, no matter the cost to him.

He would always stand by her.

_When heavens divide._

"Flandre." He said. His voice was soft and soothing, the kind of voice you never heard anymore. She didn't respond verbally, only with an imperceptibly small nod. He looked down at her, and saw that she was fine. No more of the pain and suffering that had enslaved her.

_Time will come, to softly lay me down._

"I know that I won't live as long as you, nor will I ever be as strong as you." He said. She flinched slightly, wishing that it were not so, but he gripped her harder to shut her up.

_Then I can see her face that I long to see._

"But remember, even if I stop, even if I die, even if you think you'll never see me again,"

_And for you, only for you, I would give anything._

"I will find a way." He said, his voice playing host to a quiet determination.

_Leaving a trace for love to find a way._

"After all, as they say, love is forever." He whispered, his voice sinking into his warm embrace. The girl returned his tenderness.

_When heavens divi-ide!_

"Idiot." She responded. "Don't underestimate your elders." She said, holding him tighter.

_I will dive into the fire, _

"Your body is weak and you won't be able to stand it." She said into his chest, loud enough for him to hear.

_Spilling the blood of my desire, _

"Stay behind me, always." She said, pressing herself against his shirt.

_The very last time,_

"On one condition." She said. "Will you treasure me as I treasure you?"

_My name scorched intoo~~o _

"Yes." He said. "I already do."

_The sky~y~y!_

A pain in her heart, an explosion in her chest, an unbearable joy. She lunged forward at him.

_When heavens divide!_

They locked lips, embracing tighter than they had ever done before.

_I will see, the choices within my hands._

They both already knew the choice they would take, come hell or high water.

_How can we ever protect and fight with our tiny souls._

It would be them against the world, and if ever one would falter,

_Let me shine, like the sun, through the doubts and fear._

There, right beside them, would be the other.

_Do you feel the storm approach, as the end draws near?_

No matter the strength of the storm they would have to weather,

_When heavens divide! _

If it came to it they would be united in death.

_Time will come, to softly lay me down._

To see each other, to be together, would be the only acceptable outcome.

_Then I can see her face that I long to see._

There would be no compromise.

_And for you, only you, I would give anything._

There would be no surrender.

_Leaving a trace for love to find a way._

The one thing they would never leave behind would be each other.

_When heavens divi~ide!_

All that sealed with a kiss. Breaking away from each other, they stood beside each other, although no longer as just friends.

_And for you, only you, I would give anything._

Now, bonded in life and death, they were lovers.

_Leaving a trace for love to find a way._

They went forward to face their destiny.

_When heavens divi-ide._

They both thought that whatever monsters might face them, now that they had each other, there would be nothing that would stop them.

Secure in this knowledge, they marched forward into their future.

No longer as two friends, but as one couple.

They walked to the left of their corridor, heads held high and strong against any calamity, immediately to face horrors as they had never seen.

A monster. The knife he held in his left hand was soaked to the hilt with blood, the oozing stuff all over his body. His jet-black body armor was covered in the red of death, the stench of blood so overpowering that it seemed that it had vaporized into the air itself.

Left, helter-skelter, on the floor of the corridor, were the sources of the crimson death, the corpses of the fairy maids that so ditzily cared for this mansion.

And one corpse with silver hair and a blue maid outfit, with a pocketwatch right next to it. Instinctively Flandre covered her mouth with both hands, and the boy vomited uncontrollably, overpowered by the stench of blood. The monster that had caused the carnage stood in the middle of the corridor, looking over at his handiwork. He seemed to notice the two as soon as the boy had vomited.

In a single glance, with the instincts of a hunter, he took in all that he needed to know about the two. However, in the previous fight, he had marked the silver-haired maid as a threat. The answer was obvious.

_Kill before you are killed. Survival of the fittest._

Unbeknownst to the common observer, he had already taken several knives to the legs before he had had the common sense to use his spell "Chronodislocation". Knocking the maid out of her masterful time manipulation, he stabbed her in the belly with one of her own knives and kicked her to the curb. He had been just about to finish her off before the couple had arrived to end it. Now he had an audience to his coup de grace, someone to despair when the bullets hit her brain and rendered her dead.

It was one of the few things that the grizzled old veteran of hundreds of years could take pleasure in. Moving his legs, slashed as they were by the girl's knives, he moved within kill range of the maid. His gun, pointed straight down at her head.

_Nothing but the power of the family._ He thought. The MAC-10 Ingram, a masterpiece of rapid fire and his weapon of choice for dealing with enemies at close quarters, already had its barrel pointed at the maid. He could barely advance anymore, his legs shredded completely.

He pulled the trigger. A split second before, the small blonde vampire threw herself in front of the silver-haired maid, throwing the profusely bleeding body back just as he pulled the trigger.

The sound of a typewriter that was associated with the MAC-10 Ingram ran out. Only then did Levant finish vomiting and look up at the carnage in front of him, his eyes still blurry from tears. His eyes grew wide at the sight of what had just happened in front of him, barely even affected by the sound of the maid's body striking the wall next to him.

"Oh God." He said. "No."

His voice was nothing more than a whisper.


	10. A Whirl of Action

His body moved without him even realizing it. With speed he didn't even knew he had, the boy rushed forward, grabbed the body of the little vampire, and ran back to the other end of the corridor. It was a desperate dash, an action that tore at his muscles, even though his mind knew that it was pointless to run.

His body eventually realized this, and he put down the girl, leaning her up against the wall. The submachine gun had ripped at her features, rendering her once cute face nothing more than what one might find a werewolf eating, were you to interrupt one halfway through its meal. Her red dress was stained with blood, although her blonde hair and white mob cap provided a better idea of just how much she had been shot. It was pointless to even try to count the number of entry wounds, as the shooter had been so precise and the bullets so many that it gave the effect of her head exploding.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that the girl should be dead, but there was no way that he could accept that.

However, it was his family credo to always accept reality and to live with it, and although he did not like it, even though he would have preferred to deny what was right in front of his eyes, the force of habit is a cruel mistress.

_It's too soon. But like it or not it has happened._ _The fact is that I can't live without this person, this person who let me feel so much and dream all day, the person who gave me life and something to live for._ He thought. _She is my life._

_Whether dead or alive, she will always be my life._

He heard the click as the gunman finished reloading, the sound of bullets being prepared for the firing chamber.

One of the last sounds he would hear before his death.

He turned around and spread his arms in front of her, widening his stance and standing tall. The gunman stopped.

"Any last words?" He asked. His voice was cool and professional, as if he did this every day. At least, that was how it seemed on the surface.

The twitches in his movements, the way his voice curled the words to show only the slightest hint of disdain, that said all that needed to be said about the rage bubbling just below the surface.

"Yes." Levant replied. "No matter what happens, I will not allow you to kill her. Even if you do, you will have to take me as well." He replied with an iron determination in his voice that even he was surprised by.

Discarding all of his former concealment of his emotions, the gunman's tone changed from one of a grudging, forced respect and professionalism to a tone of open hostility, spitting out the words in the most disgusted fashion, and with eyes that shook Levant to the core.

If looks could kill, this look would be able to slay Dracula himself.

"Disgraceful." He said, softly but with such disgust that it felt to Levant like a physical blow, forcing him a step back towards the girl. He was about three meters in front of her now, with the gunman at the other end of the hall. "You, a Rosenkreuzstillete, falling on love with a vampire!" He said, taking a step forward, as his voice raised itself like a priest's righteous anger, his voice smiting the demons of his religion back to the hell where they came from.

"Unbelievable!" He yelled, taking another step. "You're a hopeless, worthless dreamer, a failure to your family!" He raised the gun. His breathing was ragged, his shoulders heaving up and down.

Ten meters separated him and the boy.

"I give you one last chance." He said, calming his breathing and forcing himself into a semblance of calm.

But his shoulders were still heaving, his eyes wide with hatred, and the gun moving erratically. No longer was he the cold, professional killer, driven only by honor and mission that he appeared to be.

In truth, he is a priest of his own religion, a man with his own personal angels and demons.

And of course, a way to deal with such things.

Levant said nothing. But as an act of defiance he decided he would do something. Perhaps it was because he still wished to live, still believed that reinforcements would arrive and that this was to buy time.

Or perhaps, it was to show off the love that he would never get a chance to show, the feeling of attachment that would last for as long as he existed, whether it be as a spirit, person, or what have you.

But what he did was, he turned back and knelt down before the girl. Although still soaked in blood, she was still breathing somehow.

Her mouth was covered in blood, and she was softly saying "No… get away… I'll handle it."

"Shut up." He replied. "I won't look cool at all if it ends like that."

And then he kissed her.

He didn't trip this time.

It tasted like blood, but the effect was the same. Her warmth on his lips, the feel of being so close to someone who you wanted beside you, no matter what the cost, and the righteous determination of someone who wishes to protect the one closest to them, no matter what the cost.

The threat hanging over their lives and their imminent death was just sauce. The real meat had already been laid out on the table, and it was about to be chewed up by bullets.

Wolfgang's mouth and face exploded, his eyes popping and his teeth bared, like a monster straight out of an ancient record, ready to kill. The bloodlust was almost palpable, like an aura of death that surrounded him from head to toe. He roared, a throaty proclamation of his hatred that could not be imagined coming from a human throat.

In the face of this the boy turned around, and with grim determination was ready to charge, waiting for the moment when the gunman would pull the trigger and end them both. His face, for a second, looked like the statue of a man leading a charge, a person of utmost determination and strength.

If anyone had actually seen the scene, it would look like a baroque painting. Carnage on the floor, with the oppressor with a gun about to shoot the arch-rebel straight through the head with his pistol, believing himself the deliverer of justice. If it depicted a historical event, it would later be found that the rebels had due cause to rebel, and they would be venerated as heroes. This hindsight would be quite obvious in the painting, with the shadow draped over the gunman's face, a mask of rage that it hurt to even look at.

Then it would be hung up in some museum and called "End of a Righteous Rebel". But that's beside the point, as the action never stops.

The gunman raised his gun, the MAC-10 Ingram's metal surface still showing a pure metallic sheen. Despite all the blood it had shed, not a single drop of gore existed to taint its surface. It was almost as if it was an item of incorruptible pureness, something that could never be changed or swayed by times or circumstance.

But if the object itself is wrong, can any amount of purity ever make it correct?

As if time had unfrozen, the raised gun was ready to fire.

But for a second the gunman hesitated. Something beyond what he normally experienced had just happened.

Perhaps the boy in black who had just appeared out of nowhere in front of the gun, to shield the rebel Levant and holding his arms crossed over his torso, had something to do with it. Normally it would not have slowed down Leopold in the slightest, merely increasing the number of bullets that was needed to do the job.

Then again, the boy looked like he had taken a hundred bullets, with his clothes nothing but shreds. His body was bleeding and broken beneath the tatters of his black jacket and white shirt. His body was the main oddity, though.

For all the number of bullet holes in it, ripped and torn to the point that it looked more like air with body suspended in it, even though major blood vessels were clearly severed, their red cargo spewing out in high-pressure jets, organs hanging like entrails if they hadn't already fallen off on the floor, nerve bundles hanging limply, bones on full display, yellow and not white as a museum would have you believe they were, it was still functioning normally. What was left of the biceps contracted, pushing out spent slugs that landed on the floor without any noise.

_Is this one of the "Walking Dead" I've heard so much about? _Wolfgang thought for a second. There had been sightings of people who looked like this, but there was never anything this grotesque.

"Lucky kid's got something to die for. Isn't that sweet?" The man who wasn't quite alive made a noise that sounded like tired but recognizable human speech. The boy's eyes opened, but they didn't seem to be looking at anything at all, as if he was delivering a speech to an audience somewhere up there in the sky. What was left of his face twisted, blood spurting out as what was left of the boy's body formed something akin to yet forever different from a smile.

If Wolfgang was shocked by this, Levant was absolutely dumbstruck. He sat back, not only in surprise at the other boy's sudden appearance in front of him, but also to put another shield between the girl and the barrel of the Ingram. Levant couldn't think, and he just stared up at the black jacket on the boy's back, along with the white character on the back, smeared with blood and gore and shot up with bullets to the point that it was unrecognizable as writing.

He saw the black jacket move, and raggedy, tired words, like someone who had just run a marathon, were heard.

"Listen, kid, just remember this:" The head turned, that pseudo-spherical organ at the top of the shot-up slab of walking, talking meat that stood between him and the barrel of a MAC-10, and even though it was staring down certain death there was an unmistakable air of cheer in his voice, one that would not be out of place in the service industry.

But the thing Levant would most remember were the eyes, which were miraculously intact. Even though they were in a body that had been shot to the point of being unrecognizable, they seemed strangely normal, even healthy as they naturally moved in their sockets to look him in the eye.

"No matter how weak you might seem, know that protecting someone precious to you the way you just did makes you the strongest in the world." The voice was still cheerful, still reassuring, but somehow also absolutely serious.

"Love her. Protect her with all your heart. You don't know how lucky you are, you people who can empathize, you people who are without power." The slab of meat turned its head away, exposing only its back to the boy. "And maybe you won't end up a lonely bachelor like me with nothing to fight for but a loving couple." With that, the slab of meat turned back, and there was a strange clenching of the muscles in the back of his face as he turned around to face the killer.

The MAC-10 was motionless as the killer seemed to consider the walking dead's words. "Because only if we have lived can we learn strength through feeling death."

Those words struck a chord with Levant. They seemed to have a certain truth to them, something primal and undeniable. In his eyes, the black jacket that was a few bullet holes to blowing apart had taken on a kind of glory, a kind of pride in its tatters and its tears.

He would later recognize "the pride that even dogs have".

"Is that all?" The killer in front of him asked. "Are those your last words?" Wolfgang said, cutting off Levant's reverie.

And nothing followed. No response. Not even the chirping of the birds, or the sounds of combat in another part of the mansion.

"Very well." The killer said, raising his MAC-10 with the speed of a professional. "I thought you might be interesting, but it seems you are one of the rabble. Die, worthless scum."

"Don't worry, kid. Delivery's here for you, and it's been marked 'Salvation'."

Those were the black jacket's last words before his voice was drowned out by the typewriter sound of machinegun fire.

But as the black jacket fell, Levant saw the right hand form into a very familiar gesture, with the entire fist closed, save the thumb which extends to its full height.

It was the black jacket's final gesture of defiance before he was shot.

Levant couldn't even see or count the number of bullets that were emptied into the meat bag as he covered his eyes and ears to shield himself from the gun's report.


	11. Gunshot

But when he uncovered his eyes, the black jacket was on the floor, dead.

And right in front of him, there was the merciless gunman with the MAC-10, and a wounded vampire girl who was older than he was but looked like his little sister.

The situation had not changed an iota. There was still the reality of his impending death, something Levant was conscious of as the killer reloaded his gun, having been forced to waste his entire magazine on the bag of meat that had appeared before him.

Slowly and methodically, the killer reloaded his weapon, ensuring no jams and no surprises. The shining metal accepted the bullets with a click.

And with that sound Levant stood forward again. That sound was the herald of his impending death, and he knew that the same thing would happen to the little girl he was with, and eventually, he knew, of everyone else here.

That had to stop. Like it or not, from here on out there would be no retreat, no surrender. The battle line had been drawn, and it would be drawn here. Desperately, he searched his pockets, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon.

Perhaps it took the death of a man to show him just how hard it can be to be alive.

Perhaps it was just the knowledge that there would be nothing that could stand between him and death anymore, and that he would have to be the one to take charge of his own fate.

But some force impelled him to thrust his hands in his pockets. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had already pulled out a Swiss knife that he had always carried, one that had been a gift to him since he had been a child, and that he new carried everywhere just in case of an emergency.

There was no mind, no cognization of the fact that against a professional killer like his opponent, especially with a fully loaded submachine gun, that there was no chance for him to win. He held the knife in his right hand and raised it.

His grip was unsteady, and a professional would have easily swatted the knife out of his hand and killed him with his own, or even just decked him with a single fist to the chest. His knees were shaking, straight rather than bent, which denied him the kicking force that the legs could generate. These were all weaknesses in technique, but there was something more that ensured that he could not kill his opponent.

It was in his eyes. He was shaking, his eyes averted. Although it is true that power can be given to anyone, it is only those who can renounce their humanity, who can look into the eye of another being and kill them without remorse, only those people can kill at will.

For everyone else, it is a matter of the greatest determination, something to be done only with the impending loss of a loved one or of all that he has lived for.

Levant, having had the girl he loved just ripped to shreds by fully automatic bullets before watching a random stranger give his life to protect him, he should have felt it far more than most already. The problem with that was simple, and rather than resting with the person as most problems do, this one's source is the human mind itself.

Not only is there a midbrain with a strong repulsion to killing one's own species to be contended with, there is also the simple matter of denial.

The brain wanted to deny that something had happened, that so many people had been hurt and all he was able to do was watch. It wanted him to believe that he held no fault, that this could not have happened, that everything he was seeing was a fantasy.

It worked. He was still sane, still lucid.

But it was also because of this that he could not kill the man in front of him.

He raised the knife, even though his body had no intention of following through on his bluff. The killer, realizing this, lifted his machine pistol, the barrel looming much longer and wider than it should, actively warping space around it and making it seem like a tunnel through which one could only fall, fall, fall…

"Goodbye, Levant von Rosenkreuzstillete." The killer said, almost sadly. The boy with his knife lunged forward, ready to accept his fate.

Bang. Bang. Bang.


	12. Ending: First Edition

The battle of the spears reached its climax. The dancing red spear held by the vampire lashed forward, only to be repelled by the silver point of light that moved to oppose it. Lunging into the counterattack, the silver point of light cut a clear path through the air, that was near-solid with tension, and neatly ripped a clean hole in the vampire's pink dress, but left her unharmed.

"Tch, again." The human wielder of the silver spear said, panting slightly and letting the sweat run down his golden blonde hair, no longer covered by the dull black special forces helmet. He was exhausted, but unwounded, and although his clothes had been ripped he had suffered no damage.

As he looked up at his opponent again, he confirmed that his opponent was in the same disposition. Battered, tired, but unbowed, unbroken, and unwounded.

_How long have we been going at it?_ Leopold von Rosenkreuzstillete mused as the battle entered a lull, both combatants slowly circling the narrow corridor, their audience holding their breath as the two stared each other down.

The fight had started calmly, but had soon escalated to a fever pitch both fighters knew the other could never sustain. The air temperature in the corridor had gone up thanks to the friction of their spears on each other and with the air, plus the body heat that was created by their muscles, which strained to move at their combat speed.

But the effect was truly godly, the spears cutting through the air like points of light slicing through darkness, like what would happen if a star in the night sky would begin to move and form a trail of light that carved a path of light through the night. Gusts of wind were whipped up, stopped, and met with other violent gusts in a constant flurry, forcing all of the spectators to lean against the walls or be blown back by the unbelievable speed of the two warriors.

The man in the special operations suit, wielding a spear, looked over to his opponent the little vampire. She returned the favour, both of them observing their opponent and preparing to strike.

"We're not going to get anywhere like this." She said first, looking down at her pink gown, which had been torn up by the movement and the Holy Longinius, slits running in every direction. The same had been done to her opponent, leaving it surprising that the two combatants were not standing in the middle of a corridor in their underwear.

"I agree." Leopold said. "It would be a waste of life for you to fight these men and kill them rather than just fight me, but it appears we are more evenly matched than either of us thought." He repressed the urge to smile slightly as he said this, the warrior culture and history of the Rosenkreuzstilletes leading him to enjoy the fight. He bit down with his molars, forcing his teeth into a snarl when they should have formed a smile.

And if he wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn that he saw the same expression on his opponent's face, a fleeting expression of her thrill at facing such an opponent, just as he felt. But it was only for a second, quickly replaced by the cold, regal mask that his opponent had put on.

"Then," she asked, bending down towards her spear, "shall we end this?"

And then Leopold saw it.

The red magic that was gathering at the tip of the red spear. The bolt of pure energy that would easily kill him if he was not prepared. His eyes met his opponent's, and she smiled.

_Come on, I dare you to match me._ She seemed to be taunting him, wishing him to attack.

_Be careful what you wish for._ Leopold thought as he raised the Holy Longinius to his head, putting the handle of the spear to his forehead. _You just might get it._

He closed his eyes, feeling the cold metal of the Longinus thrum with power in his fingers. He was ready. He could feel his opponent massing her own power, the force of multiple humans' lifetimes of experience and raw power, like a red sun that threatened to consume all that stood against it.

And all he had, all he could ever offer, would be the indomitable will he possessed, the will that had been formed and hammered into a fighting intensity, so much so that it almost represented a second blade.

A second blade that would know no fear, no reserve, and no holding back. From here on out, Leopold von Rosenkreuzstillete fought with no fear, no mercy, and no awareness.

The only thing he knew was himself and the enemy. His opponent, far superior to him in terms of power, was about to hit him with her strongest attack. Naturally, being a duel of honor, there was only one proper response.

Stand and deliver.

His opponent saw now that his stance was not for show, as the silver spear was now wreathed in blue flame that burned with the stolid resolution of determination. Leopold opened his eyes, looking his opponent straight in the eye, still holding the spear aligned with his nose.

And for a moment a thought rose unbidden in her head that she would love to have him as an occasional visitor, but that was somewhere in the back of her mind, completely blotted out like everything else. Nothing was relevant to Remilia Scarlet anymore, not the situation with Sakuya and why she hadn't reported Flandre's safety, not the fact that she was wasting time here, and even the breathing she faked as a habit stopping completely, it was safe to say that Remilia Scarlet was experiencing the one emotion that had not been dulled by years of existence and drudgery.

After all, she had come to this place and experienced it quite a few times already, and she had loved it every time.

It was the thrill of combat, the knowledge that only you stood between your continued existence and your immediate termination. There, life was simple, and the only rule was to be stronger or to die.

"Are you ready for a run for your money, vampire?" The man holding the holy spear asked, returning to his stance. His words were flippant, but his eyes were perfectly calm. There was no doubt that he was in the game completely.

"Ready when you are, youngster." She replied, and her seemingly childish body sunk into a battle stance worthy of the oldest and most experienced of warriors.

Her spear absorbed the red energy she had collected, the red magic she used, and was going to use it as a blast and amplify the next blow. The force would be unimaginable, able to rip ten-mile deep craters in the ground where mountains once stood. But she didn't care about the mansion, about anything at all.

Because there is only one time when an experienced fighter will use their strongest moves, and that is when they are sure that nothing else will crush the enemy. The blue flame dancing on the silver spear was a monstrous power in its own right, possibly even surpassing the vampire's advantage in terms of raw power and could blow her out of existence if she was not careful.

As if on cue, building up the power in their spears to a crescendo, the pair lunged towards each other. Both of them let out inhuman, feral screams as they threw themselves towards the enemy, ready to use their spears to deadly effect.

This would be one blow, one attack that would decide the course of battle forever. There would be no retreat, no surrender.

Knowing this, the crowd held their breath, both combatants sinking into their stance and steadied themselves.

A sacred moment of silence, the calm before the storm, the moment before the collision of the greatest attacks of both parties, the moment before both fighters paid each other the ultimate compliment.

The sound of two feet kicking off the ground and the sharp intake of breath.

A blinding flash of light.

The end.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Six shots in total. The bullets, despite the expectations of almost everyone in the corridor who was not dead or halfway there, the bullets traced an arc of fire from a point above the floor of the corridor upwards straight into the chest of von Rosenkreuzstillete.

Wolfgang von Rosenkreuzstillete.

Both of them stood in shock of what had just happened. Their heads were turned from each other, looking on at one hand, raised halfway into the air, holding a Colt .45 M1911A1 pistol aloft. The arm was barely even recognizable, the bones visible and the red flesh exploding outwards, making it look like a flower stalk made entirely of blood and muscle.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

Only when Wolfgang von Rosenkreuzstillete crashed to the floor, his chest exceeding the name "thoracic cavity" and becoming more like the "thoracic cavern", fell face first into the massacre that was his own creation.

There was no doubt that he was dead.

As for Levant, there was no longer anything holding him back. His body moved, almost as if on autopilot.

He staggered forward, and at first he was perplexed by this, as the girl he cared for was behind him. But before he knew it, he was before the lifeless body of the maid in blue, with silver hair, porcelain-white skin, and black holsters on her legs, where her knives were.

He squatted down next to her and picked her up, carefully putting her over his shoulder. He didn't know how to give first aid, and right now it would be better to get her to proper medical attention. Staggering slightly under her weight, he approached the little vampire who had had half her head blown off in a shower of blood and gore, completely unworried because he knew, and believed with all his heart, that she could regenerate from those wounds.

Or at least, he had to believe that she could.

Taking her as well over his other shoulder, he staggered away.

_Even in death, duty does not end._

The lunge was, as it turned out, only the beginning of the end. The rushing wind, the near-sonic speeds, all of it was simply stopped.

A spear of darkness, completely black, appeared as if it was the judgment of heaven. Between the two combatants, there was a shard of darkness, but it wasn't darkness that was just absence of light.

It looked like a shard from a world beyond reality, exuding an otherworldly quality that none would dare deny. It seemed to warp the world around it, and both light and air gently bent in order to wrap around it instead of enter it, as if they knew that that was a place that they could never enter.

Leopold forced his heels into the ground, his spear still held just inches in front of the dark shard. His opposite, the vampire, veered off upwards and began to examine the darkness, though still keeping an eye on the enemy she had until seconds ago been facing.

_Hold. _

The deep voice, with an ethereal quality as if it was coming from a being that knew more and had seen more than all who heard its voice ever could, seemed to come from a point right above the shard of darkness, somewhere around head level. Both combatants looked at it, their muscles tense and ready to stab.

_I come to you on behalf of my visitor, a friend of mine who I understand has a personal stake in the matter._ The voice said, and although it was deep and ethereal, they got a sense that he would actually have quite a light voice in conversation, always laughing and telling stories. _Please, put your weapons down. I have none myself._

"I'm not worried about you." Leopold said. "I'm worried about her." He said, jerking his head towards the small girl he was against. Although his words were curt, his tone seemed almost conversational.

"Same here." The vampire responded, with just a note of playfulness in her voice.

_Then I'll just have to live with it._ The darkness shifted, as if to shrug, and it put everyone strangely slack and at ease, as if they weren't trying to kill each other. _Anyway, on to what I wanted to say._

Suddenly the formerly light and cheerful words said by the deep voice took on a gravity befitting its tone and the weight of its words.

_I know your histories, and I know your pasts. I know that your families have both been at each other's throats for years. I also know that too many have died in this damned war that's been raging since the Middle Ages. _The people in the corridor bowed their heads, acknowledging this was true.

_So I'll cut straight to the point. Now represents a golden opportunity to end the fighting. Both of you have seen each other's strength, and the bloodshed that you'd cause if you fought, but that's not the real reason._ The voice seemed to take a breath, or at least something as close to a breath as humanly possible for a dark shard to take.

_There is hope for reconciliation. Already you two respect each other as fighters, your feud forgotten as you follow the art of war. I'm sure both of you know about the other pair? _The voice asked.

Neither combatant, nor the spectators spoke.

_Then why don't you meet the couple yourself? _The voice asked, and as if on cue, the young boy came struggling up with the two girls in hand, the wounded maid and the vampire sister. Behind them was the purple witch, who had joined them on their way up to help keep their condition stable. _Then you can decide._

The commandoes under Leopold were all of his blood, and they had all been taught since childhood that the enemy was vampires, and that they had never been honourable, never stood in the light.

But in truth those were old adages, things that they never really believed. Like the words of senile elders passed down, they were ignored and barely understood, especially with the threat gone for the last how many years.

They knew far more terribly and far more personally the world of pain and hatred that was war, having all been veterans of war zones in far-flung countries, fighting and killing people just like them, those fighting for their own country like they were. Families torn apart by war, death even in the largest cities, and the knowledge that a life was hard to guard but easy to lose, that, rather than the heroic crusading of the ancestors, was their war.

At the same time, the blue-haired monster their leader had faced down seemed like quite the good fighter, quite the good girl, and far more refined than any of the elder's tales had always said.

So perhaps, when they saw the boy carry the two girls on his shoulders in, it was not surprising when they rushed forward, medkits in hand. They were quick and professional, tending to the bullet wounds like they had helped so many others. Spears and guns were laid down, replaced by tape and gauze.

Levant only stared. The sight was unreal. These people, dressed just like the gunman who had just tried to kill them, were now helping them. He didn't understand any of it.

_Someone explain this to me when I wake up._ He thought, a moment before he hit the floor. For him to go from a peaceful day, to survive hundreds of gunshots and rivers of blood and the not-quite-dead fairy maids, plus carry two people up two flights of stairs and through twisting corridors, it was a miracle he hadn't already passed out.

But as his body fell through the air, to be caught by some GSG9 and given well-deserved bed rest, he had a strange feeling that everything was going to be all right.

_Editor's Note:_

_The novel ends here due to the death of the author. I have tried to track down his spirit and ask for the ending, but he may have passed on before I assumed my current position, in which case he has already passed on into his next life._

_Needless to say, the ending of this story is lost to eternity, and it is my great regret that I could not finish this tale. The copy of the book that my latest guest possessed was shot beyond recognition as he died. I have, to this day, found no copies of the book in any world, and due to the nature of the world my guest came from, I am not at all surprised. After all, those who reject or are rejected by reality are the only denizens of that world. As such, I wouldn't be surprised not to have any visitors from there, considering that most of them would be immortal, or at the least extremely long-lived. However, there is also one other possibility._

_The book is magical, and the events within it take place at the same time as the reader reads it. The events written down in the book are true events, and by some twist of fate the reader enters the story. Such items are not unheard of, but are extremely uncommon, and to see them attack themselves to someone who already has so much power is very uncommon. I have no proof, however, as the book was destroyed during the end of the story._

_I am noting this story down in a separate Death Record from that of its teller, as I believe that this tale happened before my time, only coming to light in the form of a book. Hopefully, one day, I will be knowledgeable enough to know the truth._

_"I make it my business to know. I may not know it all, and I may not be the smartest, but I make it my business to know."_

_Death Record #388_

_The Scarlet Queen and the Rose Cross._


	13. Death Record 388: Validation

_This one's for Henix Aurorus. If you're reading this, I hate that your one comment made me do this. :D_

Ending: Second Edition.

I had a guest lately from some place called the "Human Village". I didn't recognize it right away, but it was the same human village mentioned in Death Record #387 (Delivery's Here, cross-reference). Apparently, there are very few Human Villages that are said with capitals. In any case, we chatted quite well, discussing current events from his home, but then something piqued my interest.

"There's a wedding ceremony tomorrow, which I would have gone to if I was alive." He said.

"Free food?" I asked with a grin.

"No, it wasn't that." He said, returning my smile, and leaned in as if to tell me a story. "It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before, and everybody went." He said. "There were outsiders, and they were tall!" He said. "Back in my day I was considered tall, about six feet, but the shortest of them was easily that high!"

"A weird wedding. With tall guests." I repeated. Things like that weren't uncommon in the wider world, but with the limited information I had on Gensokyo a wedding of any kind seemed like an absolute farce. "Tell me more about it."

"They had all sorts of things you didn't need. They put up a tent and brought in lots of furniture." He said. "Long wooden chairs, a table made out of white stone, golden cups and something they called the 'host'." My guest said, making quotation marks in the air. That surprised me, as he was a farmer from what sounded like rural Japan before Commodore Perry.

Then again, Gensokyo's Death Records had long ago been established as the most comical and the most outlandish of them all. Torture, sick cultures of cannibalism, hedonism, excess, corrupt facist governments, religious facist governments, democracies, worlds inhabited by only a few ethereal beings after the end of their sentient species, I had seen them all.

But even with all that, Gensokyo's Death Records were absolutely unique. They were a strange blend of humor and total stupidity, along with superpowers given almost willy-nilly to anyone who was actually there.

"Hmm…" I said. "So how did you know it was a wedding?"

"I asked Keine-sensei and she told me it was a wedding." He said. "Apparently, it's a custom in the outside world to have that kind of wedding."

I nodded and took this in. "I do know quite a bit about that kind of wedding ceremony, so if you'd like me to talk about it, then we can keep going."

"No thanks." He said. "Strange things happen in Gensokyo all the time, so it's best not to pry too much, even if they're interesting."

"A prudent decision." I said. Considering what I had heard from the other Death Records of Gensokyo, abnormality was the norm, and for someone like him, it would be preferable to keep their head down and put food on the table.

Not so for me.

"Well, I'm off." He said. "Thanks for listening."

"Every story interests me." I said. "Godspeed."

He stepped through the purple portal I guarded, the purple portal that renewed life. I turned and watched his back be swallowed by the swirling vortex as I wondered about the wedding.

_It's a Western wedding. With outside guests. There's only one Western connection I know of in all of Gensokyo._

"So I guess I'll have to do some cross-referencing again." I said. "Death Record #395, possible cross-reference with number 388." I called out to nobody in particular. I wondered for a second if living here had made me absolutely crazy.

Then I decided that I was already crazy. I walked up to the purple vortex, that thing that took the souls of the deceased and returned them to the stream of life.

But today I had a different purpose for it.

"I'll be taking my vacation now. Allow me entrance to Gensokyo. I am investigating the possibility of clearing up the story of Death Record #388, which is, as of now, incomplete." I spoke to the portal as if speaking to a superior.

Now, this wasn't me being crazy. Rather, it was something that the last caretaker of the Death Record had kindly left behind for me, that I myself could use the portal to clear up a story rather than just to have myself sent off. It had to be on business, however, no taking trips just for kicks or to get something. The point was to be able to have a complete story, or to validate a Death Record.

I had an aerial view, and I could see a large tent set up in a field, and a lake with a western mansion off to the right. The location was pretty good, as any guests from anywhere could easily find the large white tent against the rolling green plains. I nodded to myself, as if I was someone else.

"Let's go." I said. The portal had acquiesced to my request, and I stepped forward.

_Falling._

_Falling into another world, another time, another place. From my position between the parallel lines of the world, I junction myself to another. _

_Return. Darkness. Inanimateness. Displacement._

_Bring me back to life._

The dark shard appeared again. A rip in reality, something that was neither here nor there had presented itself on the plains far from the wedding.

For all intents and purposes, it was invisible unless looked at, inaudible unless listened for, and could not be felt unless touched. It was something that should not exist, something undetectable by any sense that existed, or those who the user does not wish to see them.

And forward from this black gap stepped a boy, not even out of his teens. Dressed in a casual shirt and denim pants, the boy who managed the Annals of the End, the Death Record, had appeared.

"Let's finish this story, then." He said, stalking off into the tent.

There was no need to be sneaky, as he could invoke his nonexistent nature and just strut in. Nobody would notice him. If he slapped someone in the face they would only feel it, they wouldn't see him, they wouldn't hear him.

But he somehow felt that it was unsporting, so as a game, he decided to sneak in the back anyway. He looked down on himself as he tried to sneak forward.

"Oh damn, I'm not dressed." The boy said, and snapped his fingers. Instantly he was in a three-piece suit, with a bright yellow tie.

"There we go." He said, before continuing his walk. The ceremony was already under way.

"Hope there aren't any guards." I said to myself as I stalked forward.

I snuck into the back without much commotion. After all, the ceremony was already well under way.

The first thing I noticed was that the left side was far more populated than the right side, and that the people on the left side were far taller than the ones on the right. The ones on the right were all girls, and most of them probably hadn't even finished puberty yet.

_Friends of the bride and friends of the groom._ I thought, surveying the two groups. I refocused my vision, attempting to see to the front.

There they were, the little vampire in pink and the silver-haired maid in blue, joined by the purple wizard and her assistant. The kung-fu gate guardian was there as well, probably using her chi to keep her awake.

_I thought so._ _So that's how it ended._ I looked over to the door, which had been thrown open with much aplomb.

If I was a painter or an artist myself, I would have made a picture. Not being possessed of either of those gifts, however, I have to try to paint with words.

Framed by the sun, they stepped forward. The groom, slightly short and squat for his age, but with the effect of the slimming black suit and his broad, easy smile, he looked like a man already. The way he was dolled up accentuated this, keeping his somewhat childish features but at the same time making it clear that he was grown up now, and that he was ready to face the world. He strode, although a little nervous in his steps, with an aura of confidence. His left arm stayed at his side, while his right arm was linked to another one.

A smaller, thinner one, yet one that I knew was far more powerful than his own. Despite this, however, it seemed equally fragile, to crave for the other arm like a person might crave sweets. Moving upwards from the arm, it was attached to a small body, but not much smaller than the groom's. She could probably still do that old romantic gesture of burying one's face in the other's chest, but she wasn't much taller than that. Her wedding dress was huge, as in huge on her, swelling her lower body to what was probably thrice normal size. The veil was placed over her, but I could still see the red eyes and blonde hair under the translucent cloth, not to mention the teeth shining through, happy as can be, smiling wide. For all the ridiculousness of having someone who looked fourteen dolled up like a woman, there was something that I could not deny.

On this day, and probably only on this day alone, it looked like the marriage between a prince and a princess.

I smiled, probably as wide as any of the guests and maybe wider, as I watched them solemnly parade down the red carpet, down the aisle that would decide their future. They walked slowly, without a rush, as if savouring their time together.

Eventually, though, they reached the altar. The priest, a tall man with a bald head and an easy smile, spoke to the whole congregation with his voice, as European priests once did. I noticed that his chaplain, though, was distinctly shorter than him, and with Japanese features.

_Translator._ I thought, and I was right. As the priest recited the vows for them both, he paused after each line, to allow the translator to give the message to those not versed in German.

I couldn't understand a word of it, but I knew what would happen next. As if for dramatic effect, both the priest and the translator, also a priest from his robes and stole, announced it in English.

"You may now kiss the bride!", with which Levant did. He didn't fumble it this time.

Hooting, cheering, clapping, celebration. I cheered from my pew in the back, standing on the seat and hooting my approval. It was beautiful to watch, and something that I had missed in my time alone at the Death Record.

But before the cheering had ended, I had already left. My job was done; there was no place for me there. I left the tent and looked to my left.

A faceless man, a spirit, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, his right hand holding an M1911A1 and his left holding a tarot card. He wore a black jacket and covered his face with a mask that had the Japanese character for "evil" on it, or "aku".

"Keep them safe." I said, patting his shoulder. He did not acknowledge as I returned to my world.

I am sure that this is not the end; that this is only the beginning for this couple's adventures.

However, my duty as keeper of the Death Record ends here. After all, this started with Levant as a fantasy.

But now, Levant has become reality. His death as just a fantasy is today.

I will record the rest of his story when he dies in reality.

_Death Record #388_

_The Scarlet Queen and the Rose Cross._

_~ Xylouris Trigger_


End file.
